Chronicles
by Josephinee
Summary: Rose Weasley has always considered Scorpius Malfoy one of the most annoying people she's ever had the misfortune of meeting. This year, however, deep down, she realises... he's even worse. prequel to Paramnesia
1. One

Beware of clichés! Beware of profanity! Beware of Prick!Scorpius and Snarky!Rose! Beware of typographical errors!

That said, happy reading, readers.

**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns 'em all.

* * *

Dear egotist boy, you never had to suffer any consequence  
You've never stayed with anyone longer than ten minutes  
You'd never understand anyone showing resistance  
Dear popular boy, I know you're used to getting everything so easily  
A stranger to the concept of reciprocity  
People honor boys like you in this society

_'Narcissus' - Alanis Morissette  
_

* * *

**ONE**

"Well, if it isn't the not-so-pretty Rose Weasley!"

Startled, I snap up my head from my (highly fascinating, I might add) book. I can feel the concentrated expression on my face transforming into a very annoyed one when I instantly recognise the snobby voice I've, unfortunately, come to know so well. I huff, and with my ocean eyes I tax the young man standing in the doorway up and down. The way his arms are folded loosely, the way he nonchalantly leans against the doorframe, the way a few platinum strands fall in front of his forehead; it all indicates the stereotypical arrogance of a boy well-aware of the fact that he looks good. And objectively viewed, he does indeed. Being abreast of his horrifying personality, however, he does not. To prove this point, I ostentatiously roll my eyes, and look at him in distaste.

"Sod off, Malfoy."

He smirks unpleasantly (something he must have mastered the second he came out of his mother's womb and looked at his father) and steps into the compartment. I'm sure he's here fishing for attention he doesn't deserve, so I refuse to acknowledge him and avert my thoughts back to my book. The problem, you see, is that the space is filled with the scent of his very alluring cologne. Alluring colognes are very hard to block out – even if they are accompanied by loathsome gits.

Knowing him, he probably brewed it himself, adding a few seduction elements here and there.

That would be _so_ characteristic.

I try to ignore him for five full minutes, but the lingering smell won't go away. When I finally look up, I notice him sitting in front of me. A frown is marring his aristocratic features, and it is obvious he is just _dying_ to spew another insult at me.

Three times hooray for me.

"You know, Weasley," he pipes up, "the older you get, the more your genes become apparent. I actually feel kind of sorry for you… I mean, you really inherited all of your parents' _bad_ qualities. I'd sum them all up, but then again, I'm sure the lack of date offers says it all, doesn't it?"

There are moments in which I have to restrain myself with all the strength I can muster to not rip his pretty face to shreds. For a minute I revel in a few lovely fantasies (they include Malfoy, a knife, and eyeballs rolling on the floor.) Then I sigh deeply, and in my most bored voice, I carefully formulate a retort.

"You know, Malfoy, it's not like your insults hurt me or anything. You're sickeningly pale, pointy-faced, dishonest with both yourself and the rest of the world, conceited, and above all, Hogwarts' very own STD-factory. You're like a _mattress_ in a cheap ho – " Suddenly I stop talking, as a very shocking idea occurs to me. "Why are you here anyway? This is the _Heads_ compartment!"

"Your observations are sharp as ever," he drawls sarcastically.

With a bang I close my book, and then a flickering on his chest catches my attention. My eyes enlarge to the size of a Bludger when I recognize the badge that is pinned on the left of his green tie.

Oh, no.

This must be a joke.

I look down to the same badge next to my own blue tie, and then my gaze meets his cold grey eyes. "There is no way in hell _you _are Head boy! You must have _stolen_ that badge!"

He laughs derisively. "You're right, Weasley, I totally did. I mean, why oh why would they give the position to not only richest and most intelligent, but also the fittest boy of the whole bunch? Merlin, what a preposterous idea would that be!"

Once again, I find myself in Stab-Malfoy's-Eyes-Out-Dreamland.

If only those fantasies could turn into reality...

Alas, I never believed in fairytales.

I sent him a glare that would've caused anyone to run away and hide. But this is Scorpius Malfoy, and as expected, he doesn't give the slightest flinch. Instead he only makes himself more comfortable by putting his hands behind his head and his legs on the table.

Sweet Merlin, he must be the most unbearable person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. Just like some people were made to love each other, Scorpius Malfoy was born to make my life miserable.

I nearly start screaming in despair upon seeing that damnable smirk finding its way back to the surface, but I remind myself that he is only doing this because he loves to rile me up. Convinced not to give him the satisfaction, I briefly close my eyes and count to three. Then, as calm as possible, I say: "So, as pleasant as this has been, I have to go. I'd rather not spend too much time in the same room as… well, a disease such as yourself. You might infect me with your germs."

I swiftly gather my book and robe, mutter a closing spell on my truck, and try not to throw him one last look when I seemingly serenely walk out the door. The thought of finding Albus or Lily or even my little brother cheers me up, but then the obnoxious voice is heard again.

"You're quite witty, Weasley. It's a crying shame you look like a failed experiment of mixing beavers, hippogriffs and slugs."

Gritting my teeth I sensibly continue on my way, but not without the help of a repetitive mantra with every step I take.

(Something with forks and eyeballs.)

* * *

Fortunately, I find Albus merely a couple compartments away. Lily and Hugo are elsewhere, probably off celebrating the renewal of their prefects title. When I open the door, about five pair of eyes look at me questionably. One belongs to Albus, one to another cousin of ours, Louis Weasley, and the rest to a part of their fan club. **  
**  
It's remarkable how every girl in the school seems to be head over heels with:

A) Albus Severus Potter (he doesn't fill in for James' pranks, but in the girls department, he definitely surpasses his older brother. Must have something to do with the Untidy-Hair-Nonchalance-Slash-I-Hand-Out-Cocky-Lopsided-Grins-All-Day-Potter genes.)

B) Louis Weasley (thank _you_ one-quarter Veela mother.)

C) …

- Insert gagging sound here -

Scorpius Malfoy.

What or why, I wouldn't know. This will always remain a mystery to me. It's one of those things, you know. Just like we'll never know for sure how exactly our planet sprang from the universe, I'll never know what all these lovesick puppies see in such a filthy albino.

Enough said.

"I'm going to jump off the bloody Astronomy Tower," is the first thing I say, ignoring the murderous looks from the line of pretty girls when I wiggle myself between Albus and Louis.

Albus throws me The Sympathetic Grin. "What's wrong, Rosie?"

Louis, on his turn, puts an arm around me and gives The Suave Face. "I hope it's not too bad."

Okay, let me be clear about one thing. The bond me and my two best friends share, is purely platonic. The reason for that speaks for itself, since we don't do _inbreeding_. But if it weren't for my distressed state, I would smile smugly, because those girls seem ready to roast me. Even though I'm sure I contain too many calories and all that.

"My life is _over,_ my dear friends," I exclaim dramatically. "Over! _More_ than over!"

"Tell us, Rosie, just let it all out," Louis sooths, The Suave Face never faltering.

I take a deep breath and put my hands on both their laps. "Scorpius Malfoy is _HEAD BOY_!"  
**  
**Louis and Albus both freeze, and gape at me in horror.

(Needless to add, the three remaining girls are gaping too, only they have gone into semi-Stupified state, starry-eyed and drooling mouths over the thought of sharing a common room with Malfoy.)

"But…" Albus groans, "Malfoy is a prick! Why would they make him Head Boy?" Louis, always the voice of reason, responds: "Well, it's convenient if you think about it. His grades are only second best and he's been a prefect for the past two years as well."

"Yeah, he was quite eager to point that out earlier," I inject bitterly.

"Oh no, did he say something bad?" They asked synchronically.

I shrug. "The usual. Wait, I'll quote: 'you look like a failed experiment of mixing beavers, hippogriffs, and slugs.'"

Three girls snicker.

(I bet they share one mind, because individually, they wouldn't possess enough brain cells to function decently.)

Two boys nearly leap up from their seat.

"Oh, the bastard!" One shouts.

"I'll kill him!" Shouts the other.

"He's insufferable!" The first one goes again.

"And lying through his teeth!" The second adds.

"Honestly! Rose Weasley is_ not _ugly!"

"At all! You're beautiful, Rose, you really are!"

While a slight blush spreads across my cheeks, I patiently fold my hands and wait out their rage. This is a pattern in our behaviour towards each other. First, I complain about something Malfoy has said. Then, Albus and Louis dissolve in fury, calling Malfoy names and cursing him to death. After that, they assure me of my looks, because Malfoy always mocks my appearance – never fails. During the entire exchange, I usually sit back, and then:

"It's okay, really," I say softly. "I couldn't care less about his insults. I just wish I didn't need to see his stupid face every day."

Albus nods heavily. "Completely understandable! I mean, sure, you're _used to_ having a lame common room, but –"

The stern looks both Louis and I regard him with, shut him up.

Albus has never gotten over the fact that his best friends were sorted into another house. Unsurprisingly, the Sorting Hat put him into Gryffindor, and surprisingly, it didn't do the same for me. I must admit I felt horrible about it at first, for, let's face it, my entire family has been in there. But when Louis sat down on that old chair, and 'Ravenclaw!' was yelled, the weight upon my shoulders lifted and I almost squeezed the boy to death. I remember him with a red face and stuttering speech after that, which is quite ironic if you think about it now. I mean, Louis _never _blushes, let alone stutters, around girls these days.

"If he does something to you, we'll hex him into oblivion," Albus recovers nicely.

I smile. "Thanks, but I'll manage."

And, I mean, I totally will. I am Head Girl for a reason. Curls aren't the only thing I've inherited from my mother – her brains have passed over to me as well. I'm a natural talent with hexes.

(I _have_ been in the same school as Malfoy for the six past years, after all.)

After this comes the next stage. The next stage means that Albus and Louis are sure I'm okay, and therefore switch their attention back to the three plants on the opposite couch.

I snort.

At least _I_ won't be discarded to the side by next week.

* * *

So, let me know what you think! Louis Weasley has not sprung from my own mind, by the way, it's the youngest son of Fleur and Bill. I read this somewhere in an interview with JK Rowling.


	2. Two

Thanks for the feedback, everyone!

**Disclaimer: **All the familiar characters belong to JK Rowling, as well as the setting.

* * *

**TWO**

"We are _not _using 'Crookshanks' as a password, Weasley!"

"What do you prefer, then? 'All hail Scorpius Malfoy'?"

"Well, it does have a nice ring to it…"

"How much of a self-centred megalomaniac can you possibly be?"

"Okay, listen up here, whiny cow. Even though you _are_ quite beaver-faced, I could pull a blanket over your face and show you exactly why and in which places I am such a megalo-"

"You're disgusting."

"-maniac. I mean, it would be for the greater good, right? Otherwise you'll never get your cherry po–"

In case you're wondering, I am currently situated in front of the Head's common room entrance. It's protected by a painting, consisting of two elder ladies whose days are spent drinking tea, which might explain why they are still watching the exchange between Malfoy and me with admirable patience. They asked us for a password half an hour ago.

I am not exaggerating.

Fortunately, me and my brilliant mind have found an ingenious and peaceful solution to this slight quarrel. After thirty minutes of mocking his choices ('Slytherin Sex God', 'Prince of Slytherin', 'Best Sex At Your Service', 'Scorpius Malfoy Is So Much Better Than You,' to name a few. He's serious about it too) and ridiculing mine ('Hogwarts: A History', 'Malfoy Should Die', and the aforementioned 'Crookshanks'), _and_ getting traumatized for life due to his sexual insinuations, I have made the wise decision of shutting his immensely annoying trap.

Yes. I just Silencio'd the arrogant blond on my left.

And now his eyes are glaring murderous daggers at me. Of course, this doesn't bother me in the least and I smile my sweetest smile at the two endearing women of the portrait.

"I believe we have decided on a password. What do you think of 'Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows'?"

Malfoy is now wildly gesturing that he doesn't agree.

But who cares?

"That's certainly one of the better choices you've come up with today!" One of the ladies says warmly, and when I repeat the three words once again they both move. In one flash a door has appeared.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot keep down a content grin upon seeing Malfoy's exceptionally sour-looking face. Mouthing all possible curse words, he follows my lead and walks inside.

Oh Merlin.

The first step I take in this room, leaves me with a jaw dropped to the stone floor. I'm not sure what exactly I expected, but what I didn't expect, is the space surrounding me this very moment. It is nearly as large as the Ravenclaw common room, and it also is quite airy and wide, with bookcases and easy chairs all over the room. The form is a rectangular: one side is subtly coloured in emerald and silver shades, while the other is azure and bronze. On both sides are openings with rotated stairs that probably lead to our personal dormitories. I presume that the decorations depend on whatever house the Head Boy and Girl are in. For what seems the billionth time today, I find myself wishing for a different partner; green and blue make quite a cold combination. But then I notice the flickering of a fire, and see that the fireplace in the middle of the opposite wall has been alit. It spreads a warm glow throughout the chamber, and I glance at Malfoy to see whether he has inflicted this piece of magic.

"It's rude to gape, Weasley, even though I can understand your ecstasy considering your home base."

Apparently the spell has worn off.

Remind me to just cut off his tongue next time I get sick of his condescending voice.

"First of all, you have no right to speak whatsoever when it comes to common courtesy, and second of all, not all of us suffer delusions of grandeur and therefore, do not own a Manor resembling a labyrinth," I snap, and start making my way to my stairs.

Before I get the chance to put my feet on the first step, I feel something slimy and greasy slipping around my wrist. Ablaze with nausea, I swirl my head. One fraction of a second later, I wish I hadn't, because now I am looking straight into a pair of cold, steely grey orbs, glittering with malice and contempt. When it hits me that it are _Malfoy's_ long, pale fingers that encircle my skin, I narrow my eyes to slits – an attempt to threaten him.

"Let. Go. Of. Me. This. Instant."

Something between a sneer, a scowl and a smirk becomes deadly visible. How he does it, I have no idea, but I assume that his facial expressions are otherwise so limited, that the ones he is able to produce are extra creative. Or something.

The git's tall figure is looming over me, and my wrists still aren't released. The boy is getting on my last nerve. What annoys me most, is that his _abhorrent _cologne drains my senses _again_. I mean, honestly, does he _bathe_ in the liquid or what?

"Just so you know, you stupid bint, you'll be sorry for that lame trick you pulled on me earlier. Mark my words," he hisses.

This may seem frightening, but it is not.

At all.

So I stare back with the most uninterested look I can manage, and mimic his drawling voice, "Is this supposed to scare me?"

"I am merely stating the facts."

And with that he jerks his hands off mine, which causes me to slightly stumble forwards.

"I find you quite hateful, Malfoy. Did you know that?" I call to his back, spitefully, when I've regained my posture.

Without bothering to turn around, I hear him commenting, "Feeling is mutual, Weasley, the feeling is mutual."

And then he disappears in his staircase.

* * *

"Bloody prick."

Those are the words I greet Louis with.

"Who?" he asks in a surprised voice, as I roughly sit down. "Me?"

"Yes, you, Louis, of course," I mutter sarcastically, and angrily dish up food on my plate.

Louis quickly recuperates, being the perceptive and clever Ravenclaw that he is, and _ta-daaa_, there pops up Mr. Suave Face again. "What did Malfoy do this time, Rosie?"

I pin my fork in my steak and imagine it to be Malfoy's ashen hand.

Strange pleasures wash over me when I put a piece in my mouth. Perhaps I have cannibalistic tendencies, but that's something to be analysed some other time.

"What do you think?"

"He was being himself?"

"Correct! Ten points to Louis Weasley!"

"Don't take out your bad mood on me, darling," he replies, patting me on my back. "And get that frown off your face. You wouldn't want to be all wrinkled by the time you're thirty, now would you?"

I smile. A little. "You sound like a combination of my mother's gay friend and Grandma."

"That's a first," Louis chuckles. "Girls don't usually peg me as homosexual."

"Well, you being gay wouldn't be that bad, seeing as, at the rate of last year, you'll be through with each and every girl that isn't family of yours by the time the month's over."

I make an effort to mumble this under my breath and make it unintelligible as possible.

Alas, by the looks of it, my plan has backfired.

"Rose," the manly version of Fleur Delacour reprimands, "I heard that. And I'll have you know that I don't have date tonight, so you can start inventing ways to apologize later. I was thinking along the lines of-"

"I'm not breaking up with your girlfriend for you, Louis Weasley."

His shoulders hunch forward in a disappointed manner. I cannot believe I have such an insolent pig for a best friend – and don't get me started on Albus. Louis over here at least has the decency to _pretend_ to be a well-mannered young man. He takes coats, kisses hands, buys roses, and all that nonsense. Albus however, he doesn't even bother.

"Tell me again why you're my best friend?" He scoffs eventually.

"Well, maybe because I don't fall for your stupid traps?" I suggest.

His face brightens slightly. "Or because your Dad would kill me if I wasn't friendly to you."

Despite myself, I laugh, and poke my fingers in his ribs. In reply, he swirls a big, strong arm around my neck, which results in me duckling under the table, complete against my will. Then I put both my hands to use and start tickling his sides. He's torn between groaning and chortling, and I almost got him begging for mercy when -

"Miss Weasley?"

Breathlessly I disentangle myself from my cousin and tilt my head up to see whoever felt the desperate need to interrupt this lovely moment of friendly family bonding.

Oh, shit.

"Oh, good evening, Professor McGonagall!"

You know, McGonagall? As in, our _headmistress_?

Way to go, Rose. You're doing an awfully splendid job on impressing the teachers with your Head Girl behaviour!

Also very festive, is that at the present, I am the receiving end of about eighty envious glares. Honestly, _somebody_ needs to get over themselves.

(That somebody being about ninety percent of the female population at Hogwarts.)

"Good evening," Professor McGonagall, in all her glory, nods curtly. "I suggest you fix your chaotic appearance, because you have a Heads meeting in ten minutes."

With a swift of her robe she strides away and besides me I hear a stifled laugh.

"Well, I'm off, I'm sure I have more interesting things to do for the next ten minutes," I tell Louis jokingly, "then to engage myself in such immature games again. Like watching dust fall on my desk."

His laughter stays with me until I reach the entrance of the Great Hall. At last, I hear him shouting, "See you later then!"

As usual, I arrive five minutes ahead of the arranged time. My dishevelled hair is fixed, and as I wait for the headmistress to show up, I straighten my back and clasp my hands together. A righteous posture; exactly what I need to compensate for my... fairly childish behaviour from earlier.

A clicking of heels in the hall signals McGonagall's presence. Luckily, she grants me one of her rare smiles, and with a flick of her wand, opens the door of her office. She gestures me to enter before her.

"Thanks, professor," I smile back politely and walk in.

McGonagall takes a seat behind her desk. Cautiously – I don't want to make a bad impression on my first day as Head Girl – I sit on an easy chair in front of the desk. The office isn't big, nor very enchanting, but there are several paintings hung against the wall, and the overall image will do. Because she knows the aged woman a lot better than I do, for it is the Head of her house as well, Lily – my cousin – once asked her why they don't use the office that is _meant_ for headmistress. Apparently McGonagall got a bit teary and said it reminded her too much of Dumbledore.

And you must know, that woman barely displays any emotion _whatsoever_.

That reminds me of Malfoy.

Speaking of which, where the hell _is_ he?

Not that I mind his absence. I mean, who _would_ mind the lack of a superior drawl that has the same effect as nails on a chalk board?

"Well, do you know where Mr. Malfoy is, Miss Weasley?" McGonagall asks with a scanning look.

No, professor, but let's all make a quick wish he's jumped off the Astronomy Tower!

"No, professor," I say out loud, "I have no idea whe-"

As on a cue, the polished face of an impeccable Malfoy appears in the doorway.

As on a cue, my meal is ready to make its way upwards again.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, come in," McGonagall eyes him disapprovingly, "how kind of you to join us. Five minutes late, that is."

He takes the seat next to me, and when he's sat, he gives McGonagall the most apologetic look he can fake. "Excuse me my tardiness, professor. I've been held up by professor Longbottom. We needed to discuss something small."

Malfoy?

And Neville Longbottom?

Yeah. I think _not_.

Malfoy strongly dislikes professor Longbottom. And vice-versa. I mean, I'm not really sure whether Neville dislikes Malfoy, but I think it's safe to presume. What's there not to hate about Malfoy anyway?

I have to focus my eyes on one point of the wall to refrain them from rolling.

"Oh, I see." McGonagall says, buying his crap. "I haven't called you in for a special reason. We just need to swiftly discuss your Head deputies. I suppose you are both aware of your privileges and duties, but I wanted to make sure there are no uncertainties."

Malfoy folds his hands on the desk. In a flash I remember the contact between his lean fingers and my wrist...

... and then take a moment to shudder in revulsion.

"Of course, professor," he smirks.

I frown at him, and then nod politely to McGonagall, urging her to continue.

"You have the duty of supervising both the younger pupils and the ones of your own year. I highly recommend you to not let your friendly feelings in the way when some of your peers are causing trouble. You are supposed to help teachers maintaining discipline and order, therefore you are allowed to deduct points and give detentions. To not abuse this ability – if something similar gets reported to me, it will get sorted to the bottom. You also have the duty of doing rounds after curfew, to check if the pupils are in bed." She paused. "Your main privilege is of course that you have your own sleeping dorm."

I swear I can _feel_ the glee blossoming in Malfoy's eyes at that last statement.

"If you have any questions, you can always approach me. Everything clear?"

"Yes, professor," I say.

"Yes, professor," Malfoy says.

At the same time.

We turn our heads to each other, both embellished with furrowed brows – and then look back away very swiftly.

"Then you may go."

"Good evening, professor," I greet courteously.

"Good evening, professor," Malfoy greets seemingly courteously.

At the same time.

We both freeze in our movements and look at each other again.

He scowls. I huff. He sneers. I snarl.

And then we realise McGonagall is with us and turn away as quickly as before.

I leave the meeting with a pit of annoyance in my stomach, and all Louis' efforts during lunch have gone to waste. I think I'm going to suffer from a heart attack on the age of, hm, let's say, nineteen or so.

* * *


	3. Three

Alright, so I was going to update sooner, but I've been engrossed in way too many angsty fanfiction the past weeks to crawl into the skin of a witty Rose Weasley. And the last thing I want is to turn this story into a _sob-fest._

I've also written a very short and quite pointless one-shot because it just popped up in my head one day.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the things that seem even remotely recognisable to you. Sad. Really sad.

**THREE**

I cannot believe it.

I _honestly _cannot believe it.

… But this very second I am standing in front of a fairly damp mirror, taking in and analyzing each part of my freckled, seventeen-year-old body. I am not vain, and have certainly not developed a case of narcissism (for exact description of 'narcissism', open up your dictionary under 'Scorpius Malfoy'), yet I have been frozen on this spot for the past fifteen minutes. Why, you ask? Well, the same reason for the terror that bestows upon me daily.

Take three guesses.

(Or just don't bother.)

The thing is, no matter how much I couldn't care less about pompous gits, Malfoy's insults are getting worse and worse each year, which, consequently, means that this year is the most horrifying of them all. I've never been insecure about my looks, but for the two weeks I've been back to Hogwarts, Malfoy has felt spectacularly inventive and sprouted different taunts about every sodding birthmark on my skin, _everyday_. The following list pretty much sums it up:

Sunday: "Listen up here, Weasley. Your grades may be better than mine, but you're incurably ugly, and I can always start studying tomorrow, isn't that right?"

Monday: "Merlin, Weasley, you are _the_ poster child for unattractiveness. Here is a rope, hang yourself with it, will you?"

Tuesday: "So I was thinking about your repulsive body and face the other day, Weasley, and I have come to the conclusion that after your maker was done with your gift to boss people around, he was too exhausted to take care of anything else. Don't you think?"

Wednesday: "... Remember that theory I told you about yesterday, Weasley? Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I reckon the profound sense of it. I mean, fuck, your face is so asymmetrical it's not even funny anymore. Not that you're ever funny, but whatever."

Thursday: "You know, if you weren't such an insignificant, not to mention, revoltingly ugly, bint, I might've mustered up the energy to listen to your crappy ideas. But, alas, you are insignificant as you're revoltingly ugly, and therefore your ideas are by definition not worthy listening to."

And so on.

And on.

And on.

This all coming from a cocky boy sporting a hypopigmentary congenital disorder.

Now I'm asking you...

But nevertheless, I'm still standing here. In front of the damp mirror (which I've silenced, for it is masculine, and couldn't stop commenting on my breasts. Because that's what men do.) criticizing every inch of my living form.

My hair is something people notice straight away, which might not always be an insult. Yes, I've got the same curls from my mother, and yes, I've got the same fiery colour my dad carries, but my waves are much more delicate than mum's, probably because I've cut them short recently – just until my shoulders – and dad's colour gives them a certain... spice. Lily, my cousin, always used to say that I shouldn't whine about my hair, because it's unique.

Not counting in my entire family and Lily Potter I, that is.

But all the same.

My face is something you don't just pass a judgment on in one second. No, it's not asymmetrical (in fact, it takes all my willpower to understand where the hell Malfoy got that from), and yes, the main basics are in proportion. My eyes have the standard ocean blue colour that the Weasleys are famous for, but aren't specially big nor expressive. My nose is slightly turned up at the end, but furthermore has a straight bridge and isn't too wide or small. As for my mouth, it's suffice to state I am very content with my full and pink lips. All in all, I know my face has grown into a pretty one over the years – if only it wasn't so _freckled_.

The freckles are an annoyingly present, unwelcome phenomenon on my creamy skin. They run from my cheeks down to my shoulders and arms. I admit, it could be a lot worse, especially during winters, but it vexes me still. It's just one of those flaws you ought to relativize, but it bothers you anyway. Like the fact that even though my legs are long and nicely shaped, I am rather petite as a person and my feet are a tad too big. Like the fact that I give a fragile impression due to frail wrists and neck, but then my belly isn't all that flat. Or like -

Is that a door I heard?

Oh _Merlin._

"_Weasley_?"

That voice.

That reflection in the damp mirror.

A towel! A TOWEL! Get a towel NOW!

Alright. Breathe. I am covered. Half-way, that is.

I'd give up my Head Girl badge if it would mean that the ground would split in two and swallow me whole this second.

With a blush to the roots of my hair, and steam blowing out of my ears, I turn around and come face to face with the devil in human form: a brightly smirking Malfoy, clad in only his plaid pyjama pants. As we're used from the boy, he is leaning against the doorframe with such a great air of superiority and arrogance it makes me quiver. It is so incredibly unfair how his hair is all tousled and he wears a sleepy expression, and yet he still manages to come off like he's _better_ than you.

Which he by no means is.

I am imagining to be another girl, because if I was another girl, I'd probably be stuttering and losing the towel right now. With Malfoy's lean yet toned chest and all. But, fortunately, I am me, Rose Weasley, and without the slightest tremor in my tone, I spat: "I swear, Malfoy, if you aren't going to get _out__this very instant_ I am going to hex you into oblivion, alright?"

And then something funny happens.

You see, the boy doesn't budge an inch. He just keeps eying me with a calculating look on his features, with that stupid smirk in check.

And – this is the funny part – instead of hexing him into oblivion I kind of stare back at him, refusing to let my vision sweep over his tall form, but staring all the same. I become terribly self-conscious under his shrewd gaze and tighten my grip around my towel.

"I don't see your wand," he comments lightly, cocking an eyebrow and breaking eye-contact, shamelessly looking me up and down.

"Well, I don't see yours either," I comment just as lightly, with my eyes explicitly directed at _that_ place, to underline my insinuations.

His smirks turns into a sneer. "Which makes sense, because my _wand_ sure as hell doesn't react upon seeing girls like _you_."

"Original, Malfoy," I roll my eyes, "and if it doesn't, why can't you stop ogling me?"

He flushes in horror. "Me? Ogling you? Merlin, get out of this bathroom yourself, so I can at least use the toilet to throw up in."

"Sod off, Malfoy!" I exclaim, because I'm fed up. And dressed in a towel, for that matter.

He lifts his eyeballs upwards and shakes his head. "Yeah, whatever. There's only so much of you I can stand anyway."

Tsk.

Whoever came up with the idea of Heads sharing bathrooms anyway?

* * *

"So, can somebody tell me about the rather recent spell _'Sectumsempra'_?

Professor Goldstein – subject Defence Against the Dark Arts – is standing in front of the class, both his hands on his desk, looking at us curiously. I may have imagined it, but his gaze lingered a little longer on me and Albus, who was sitting next to me. He does that very often, which is a tad disturbing. Alright, our parents saved the Wizarding world, big deal, could we please move on now?

Nevertheless, I like this man, for he is very nice in a wow-Rose-your-magical-skills-are-truly-impressive-way, so I do what he expects from me and lift my hand. Albus next to me hasn't inherited his dad's interest in Defence Against the Dark Arts and is drifting to a peaceful slumber.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Wait, what?

"The spell is considered to be Dark Magic; anything severed from a target's body by this spell cannot be grown back by magic," Malfoy pauses. "It was invented by the former potions teacher in this school: Severus Snape. 'Seco' means 'to cut', and 'sempra' means 'always', which pretty much sums up the effects of the spell."

Professor Goldstein's eyes light up. "Very good, Mr. Malfoy! Five points to Slytherin!"

I turn around in agony, glaring at the boy who has just so shamelessly stolen my glory. As expected, he wears a pedantic smirk.

Accidentally, I overhear a girl on my left. Swooning, she sighs: "Oh, Scorpius is _soooo_ smart! How does he _know_ these things?"

"Well, it's kind of hard not to," I whisper, unable to help myself, "with uncle Harry almost killing his cowardly father's ass with it!"

Oh boy, is she murdering me with her eyes.

I so need to stop poking my nose in other people's businesses.

"Miss Weasley, that was uncalled for!" reprimands professor Goldstein.

I shrink into my seat. I didn't realize I was talking so loud!

"I apologize, Professor."

"No, you don't."

Startled, I swirl around to find Malfoy boring peek holes in my head with his piercing stare and with a menacing twist around the corners of his mouth. I frown at him.

"What do you mean, I don't?"

"You're not sorry, Weasley, so stop pretending. I bet you loved to spread this new piece of juicy information, didn't you?" He speaks with carefully chosen words and is so calm it unnerves me.

"Of course not!" I retort. "It just slipped!"

"Sure, Weasley," he bites out, "at least _your_ family threw the curse."

Professor Goldstein tries to interfere: "Children!"

No avail.

"Oh, you want to play it that way?" The decibels of my voice increase. "That hardly counts since it was _your_ father who wanted to use an _Unforgivable_ on Harry because he simply was –"

Collective gasp in the classroom.

"Total bullshit, Weasley! You know it were different circumstances, and your uncle had no right to bother my father like he did-" Malfoy's voice is louder as well.

"Bother? _Bother_? Your father was crying his heart out with Moaning Myrthle and Harry just walked in on them!"

"First of all," Malfoy is breathing hard, "he wasn't _crying his heart out_. And second of all, Potter could've just left!"

"Children!" Professor Goldstein interrupts blatantly. "Enough now!"

"No! He is _completely_ twisting the truth," I yell, full of indignation. "Harry _wanted_ to leave but Malfoy noticed him through the _sodding_ mirror! And then he just went crazy and used the Crucia-"

Malfoy's chair falls backwards as he jumps up, exclaiming: "He didn't just go crazy! Potter was totally crossing a line and he was stressed enough as it was! And you know, it doesn't matter whatever the fuck you say because it will _always_ remain Potter who used a curse on my father!"

"What kind of lame argument is that, Malfoy?" I scream, shoving my chair backwards as well. "What are you? _Five_?"

"Oh, grow up, Weasley! You were the one who '_accidentally'_ slipped information that nobody knew about in the middle of a lesson!"

"ENOUGH!"

Both Malfoy and I look at a fuming professor, surprised out of our wits so badly we are rendered speechless. Professor Goldstein runs over to us and places himself in the midst of our battlefield. Not used to seeing him so furious, the whole class holds his breath and waits for his reaction.

"Never in five years have I seen such rude behaviour, and from the Head Boy and Girl nonetheless! Unbelievable!" He screeches. "This unacceptable event will cost you both more than just twenty house points!"

I inwardly curse myself, and Malfoy a thousand times more.

"I expect you in my office tomorrow evening! You are lucky to have your Head deputies, so it will only be one evening, but I'll make sure you'll have your hands full! _Don't _bring your wands!"

His head turns from left to right, nostrils flaring.

"Unbelievable," he repeats, and then addresses the whole class: "You are dismissed. Until next time, hopefully in better circumstances!"

Great.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Detention with _Malfoy_.

* * *

Alright, so I want to clear things up a bit. Scorpius and Rose don't hate each other because of their heritage – it is simply a sensitive spot they both like to abuse. Their real reasons for hating each other will become clearer in the next chapters. And I know detention is a total cliché, but I kinda needed it for my storyline. So, let me know what you think!


	4. Four

FIRST OF ALL! I CHANGED MY PENNAME. Into my a part of my real name. Figures... I hope this doesn't cause any confusion.

Second of all; a little shameless self-advertisement! I've written another - very cheesy, but hey...- one-shot. Which is also the reason why this is posted a few days later than originally planned.

**Disclaimer: **no Scorpius and no Rose and no Potter or no Malfoy whatsoever for me. Kudos to JK Rowling.

**  
FOUR**

Livid to the degree I could totally picture myself flinging around tables and such, I storm out of the classroom. Albus and Louis are flanking my sides, but even their Suave Faces and Sympathetic Grins run out of stock and the boys are both roaring with laughter.

"Merlin, that was _priceless_! You should've seen his face when she –" Louis starts to sputter, clutching his stomach.

Albus follows this fashion and has to lean against to wall to support him. "She said his father was crying his- " trying to catch his breath, "- _heart_ out! Imagine that his high-and-mighty family might cry his-"

"Heart out!" Louis filled in, and held onto Albus.

"Stop talking as if I'm not even there," I intercede grumpily, "and I have a bloody detention because of that ludicrous scene! With Malfoy!"

I try to walk further, but no chance of doing so with these two sorry excuses for best friends giggling like premature schoolgirls. I huff loudly, but they pay me no mind.

Nice. Really.

All of a sudden I feel a hand encircling my wrist as an attempt to probably stop me. In a fraction of a second, I am reminded once again of Malfoy's long, slimy fingers and then, in the next fraction of a second, I am very disturbed with myself for even thinking of thinking about it.

"Weasley? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

I turn around to see who this person is, since I don't recognize the voice. It's sort of haughty, though. My eyes widen in surprise when I see one of the people I least expected to ask for a minute to talk with me.

"Zabini?" I ask, incredulously.

Let me fill you in on Stephano Zabini. First of all, he's Slytherin – to the core. Second of all, he's Malfoy's best mate – also to the core. Like Malfoy, Zabini is your typical pretty boy with the typical high cheekbones, but whereas everything about Malfoy is fair (except his soul, that is), everything about Zabini is dark. Deep brown eyes, wary raven hair, bronzed skin. Also unlike Malfoy, is that this boy doesn't seduce girls for sport. At least not that I know of. Zabini has always struck me as an intelligent, subtly devious, observing and ambitious young man. In class he usually cuddles next to Malfoy and even though they both score top grades, they always seem up to something. And Zabini isn't the most, well, friendly person I've ever come across.

... Yet he is _smiling_ at me now. Quite charmingly, I might add.

"Of course," I smile back at Zabini and then turn to my two cousins, who are now looking at me in disbelief, apparently out of their laughing fit.

Not that any of us holds childish grudges against Slytherin (although, in all honesty, it still is the somewhat more _evil_ house), but I can understand their disbelief. Therefore I give them an assuring nudge on their shoulders and say: "I'll see you later, mates."

They both eye Zabini very suspiciously, but mutter their 'Alright' anyway and take off. After they've walked out of sight, Zabini finally lets go of my wrist and the smile never leaves his handsome face.

"You might find it strange that I'm asking you for a minute of your time," he drawls, which reminds me of Malfoy _again._

I nod, agreeing.

Well," he continues unperturbed, "I just wanted to say you were really fantastic in there."

I almost choke on air and he notices, because he starts to chuckle.

"I know it's sounds strange but you really unnerved Scorpius, and that's something almost nobody can. I really like Mr. Malfoy, but I think you were right about the Unforgivable. And don't look at me that way, I know what you're thinking. Not all of us Slytherins rave about Dark Magic," he went on, but while with every other boy this would sound like rambling, he made it sound collected, "so anyway, I'm very impressed by your performance."

Close your mouth, Rose. Pick it your jaw back up from the floor, _now_.

"Oh," I manage to bring out, "oh. Thanks, Zabini."

He cracks a grin and locks eyes with me. "It also helps that you're really cute."

Alright. So what if this wizard is gorgeous and totally making a pass at me? _Puh-lease_. I'm used to this kind of thing, so to speak.

... But I blush anyway. "Aren't you full of surprises today, Zabini? But thanks anyway, I think."

"Anytime," he winks, "now, what I _actually_ came for... Would you accompany me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

Stephano Zabini, Malfoy's best mate, more Slytherin than Salazar himself, is asking me out on a date. Hell has officially frozen over. Oh, and look! There are pigs flying out of the window!

"I'd love to, but I have this detention, you see, and I have loads of homework in the afternoon," I decline cautiously, and I realize I actually mean what I say.

"What do you think of next weekend then?"

"Oh," I blink, "next weekend? Yeah, well... Sure, why not?"

"Alright then," he smirks – of course – and then gives me a quick peck on my cheek. "See you around, _Rose_."

I smirk back, and tilt my head up. "See you around_, Stephano_."

* * *

"So, Stephano Zabini it is?" Lily Potter comments, with raised eyebrows.

I just told my beautiful cousin about the small occurrence in the halls earlier today. I admit, it's been in my head for hours and I specially came to the Gryffindor common room after dinner to discuss this matter with another girl. I love Albus and Louis to death, but there are just certain things that cannot be talked about with boys.

"Stephano Zabini it is," I nod.

She frowns thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose he is very good-looking, but..."

"But what?"

"It's _Zabini_. You don't really know anything about him, except that he has a _really_ hot best mate."

"Lily. Shut the hell up. I don't want to talk about Malfoy, I want to talk about Zabini, who is way cuter than Malfoy will ever be," I say, appalled that my own _blood_ would make a comment about how hot _Malfoy_ is.

I mean, Malfoy.

How is it that everyone idolises his looks and that I just want to empty all my meals of the past year when I see his face?

"Honey," she looks at me pityingly, "as I said before, Zabini is very good-looking. But there is no denying that Malfoy is the _best-_looking! And don't give me that look! It's not that I like the boy or anything. When it comes to personality he's a real prick."

"Ah, thank you," I smile, relieved. "Now. You think it's a good idea to go out with Zabini?"

"Rosie, the boy's quite a catch. Rich, handsome, and _maybe_ he's even nice! What more could you want?"

"Nothing, I guess..."

"And besides, Zabini is a real upgrade from your last boyfriend!"

"You liar!" I laugh and throw a chocolate frog at her. "You're only saying that because Tony didn't want to date _you_!"

She grows red, but throws a chocolate frog back at me and starts laughing too. "Shut up!"

* * *

After I, indeed, spent my Saturday afternoon studying (I'm a Ravenclaw, Head Girl _and _Hermione Granger's daughter, after all), I arrive fifteen minutes early at my detention. It speaks for itself that Malfoy doesn't dream of showing up on time, let alone early. Unfortunately for me, Professor Goldstein isn't present yet either, so I end up sitting on the floor, my back resting against the wall. And as always when I have plenty of time, the wheels in my head start turning furiously. It is one of those side-effects of being an intellectual.

I've only gotten detention once. It was positively _dreadful_. The disappointment was written all across my mother's face when she heard of it. It happened four years ago – third year – and I valued my mother's approval above anything else. I woke up with a damp pillow the morning after. My reaction was, of course, exaggerated, since my cousin James got into detention _all the time_, and Albus had a few under his name as well. But I was simply used to the idea of being the respectful good girl.

Oh, and the reason for that detention?  


Well.

Do you _really_ have to ask?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

I remember that event vividly. It occurred during Potions, and that time we still had Professor Slughorn as a teacher. The animosity between me and Malfoy was already there, only less apparent and more disguised. Most people weren't aware, much less the teachers. Professor Slughorn liked us both an extreme amount: we were his two best students. Me because of great interest, Malfoy out of sheer talent. I don't like to compliment Malfoy on anything, really, but his talent for Potions is something not even I can deny. So, with two people – one with the knowledge and one with the skills – as good as we are, Slughorn decided to pair us up.

"We can't pass the opportunity for a perfect potion, now can we?" were his exact words, as I recall correctly.

Needless to say, both Malfoy and I were protesting with nausea etched on our young faces.

Unfortunately, Professor Slughorn had no ears for our misery, and simply gave us a disapproving look. That shut me up, and although Malfoy kept muttering curses under his breath that would've made his mother scrub his mouth out with soap, he kept quiet too.

The first thirty minutes went fine, aside from the usual snapping ('Can't you cut somewhat more precise?!', 'Merlin, are you always this slow?'). The real problems began when we had to throw our ingredients in the cauldron. Yes, you can hear it coming from a mile off, don't you?

Indeed.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but somewhere in between swinging weeds and animal hairs, and stirring clockwise, somehow a spat of disgusting green slime jumped on my brand new robe. Oh, did I mention Malfoy was taking care of the cauldron?

So, what did I do?

I drew the stirring spoon out of the git's hands and splattered more than a few spats of disgusting green slime on _his_ super-deluxe robes. Then, naturally, he went all psycho on me and literally poured the entire substance in the spoon _in my oxford blouse_.

Close your eyes, imagine this scene, and start laughing your ass off.

Because that's what the rest of the class was doing by this time.

Surely I didn't find the humour in this little witticism, and leapt up virulently, trying to take the spoon away from him. Too bad he was very prepared for the attack and held onto the wooden thing like a vice grip. Then I didn't see another way out than to fight, which is what I did, with full force. I pushed him down to the ground, using my full body weight, whilst struggling for the object like it was made of gold or something. He didn't yield, and after what seemed an eternity of rolling around with the albino I still didn't get the spoon – I'm small and not so strong, alright – but at least his robes were fully tarnished too, with all the contact with my blouse, which was soiled to every fibre of the material.

Honestly, I still think Professor Slughorn would've torn us apart earlier if he hadn't been holding back his laughter like he had. Nevertheless, he burdened us with a deduction of forty house points, and a week detention.

After that I swore to myself that Malfoy would never _ever_ make me lose my temper like that.

Ah. The irony.

"Oh look, it's the Weasley, for once where she belongs. On the floor."

I look up and find myself eye to eye with the object of my aversion and my mouth sets into a thin line.

"Sod off, you miserable green slime."

* * *

I know there wasn't much Scorpius/Rose interaction, but some things should be written too. Next chapter is the detention, so _all_ ideas and suggestions are welcome! Oh, and props to Hondagirl, who inspired me some time ago for this cauldron idea and all.


	5. Five

* * *

So here it is, the detention chapter! It sure does make up for the lack of R/S interaction in the previous chapter, I presume.

**Disclaimer: **belongs to JK Rowling. Blah, blah, blah. You know the drill ...

**FIVE**

"Miserable green slime? Merlin, Weasley, you sure do have a way with words," says Malfoy mockingly.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Well yes, I tend to describe things the way I see them in a meticulously accurate way."

"You know, it's a shame you haven't been placed in Slytherin," he spits, "with the way you pull of lying."

"I would've _begged_ the Sorting hat on my knees to not put me in there!" I exclaim, horrified at the idea of sharing a common room with Scorpius Malfoy.

But, oh wait!

I already do!

Yes. I must be _so_ loved up there.

"I would say begging is beneath you, but then again…" the git eyes me up and down with clear disdain.

I glare. "But then again you don't have enough brain cells to finish your sentence?"

"Ah, your intellect astounds me once again, Weasley," Malfoy feigns a surprised look, "seeing as you fail to accept that, despite the odds, I am cleverer than you."

"I'd recommend you the career choice of a comedian, but oh, wait! You're not even funny!" I say, mimicking his face.

The famous smirk appears. "You don't _need_ to be funny when you're as gorgeous as I am."

"Ahargh," I formulate the driest way I possibly can, "your ego is invading my space. I'm suffocating."

"Please don't let my presence refrain you from doing so. That argument is getting awfully old, Weasley," he lifts a refined eyebrow, "spitting it at me nearly every day wears down the effect, don't you think?"

"Uh, no," I quip, "but you might start wondering just for what highly fascinating, psychoanalyzed reason I tell you this so much."

"Jealousy? Envy? Can't handle the fact that even I, as a man, am prettier than you? I don't know. The female mind is quite mysterious at times," Malfoy drawls, fully ignorant of the fact that there could be – Merlin forbid! – something tainted about his existence.

His whole being is bloody likely.

I look at him with complete contempt. "I hardly consider _you _a man, Malfoy."

"Well, I hardly consider _you _a female, so it works both ways," he scoffs.

I lift myself up from the ground and meet his heated glare. "Too bad your best mate does, isn't it, Malfoy?"

"As usual I don't have the slightest idea of what nonsense is sprouting from your filthy mouth," he says, seemingly bored, but I've noticed the faint widening of his eyes at my statement.

Good. He is genuinely surprised. That positively means that Zabini asking me out wasn't the result of a devious Slytherin bet. This pleases me immensely.

"Oh, didn't _Stephano_ tell you?" I ask in the most fake, honey-dripping voice I can come up with, emphasizing Zabini's first name for the sole reason of aggravating Malfoy.

Naturally I reach my goal. "Surely it isn't anything that justifies you using his bloody first name."

"I'm not too sure about that, Malfoy," I continue in the sweet tone, "but seriously, you _really_ don't know?"

"Stop fucking around, Weasley," he snarls through gritted teeth.

I grin in satisfaction. "Language, Malfoy, _language_."

Acting like the immature, spoiled brat he is, he finally loses his cool and roughly grabs my shoulder. I'm about to open my mouth to comment on the fact that he seems to do that rather often these days, but then a familiar voice makes us both freeze in our movements.

"Mr. Malfoy, please kindly release Mrs. Weasley from your grip so we can get this done and over with!" Professor Goldstein calls out. "We'd want this detention to pass peacefully, wouldn't we?"

If you put it that way...

* * *

"I could fucking _kill _Goldstein and the entire fourth year with my _bare _hands now."

I throw a glance to my left and have to suppress a giggle at the sight of a fuming Scorpius Malfoy, only a nanosecond away from tearing his perfect, prissy, white hair out. Got to hand it to him though; for once I share his sentiment. What we're currently facing is the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, in completely disarranged state. Apparently there has been an accident with the fourth years on Friday (I tuned Professor Goldstein out that moment because I was too busy restraining myself from strangling both him and Malfoy) and our lovely teacher decided it might be a good idea to leave the mess for the Head Boy and Girl to clean up – without the aid of a simple Scourgify. Sketch of showing the position of objects: desks covered in mud, walls covered in mud, chairs covered in mud, ceilings covered in mud, sodding _grooves of the floor_ covered in bloody mud.

Indeed. It's suffice to claim I'm just as cheerful as Malfoy now.

Unfortunately, I know that he likes to see me all riled up, so I swallow my anger and put on my most jolly face. "Oh _dear_, you're so _violent!_ What's gotten your knickers in such a twist?"

"Weasley," he grumbles threateningly, "your excruciating ugliness and retarded mentality astonishes me enough as it is. There's no need to worsen the daily process."

"My, my, aren't we quite the grumpy one today?" I bite, losing the happy expression and rolling up my sleeves to get to work.

"Mentally sane people would rather jump in front of the Hogwarts Express than to be in my position, Weasley, so I think I'm handling this situation admirably well," he sneers, making no attempt to follow my example and just stands there like a damn _statue_.

I briefly wonder whether his body feels cold as a statue too.

Wait a second. Just _why_ has this thought popped up in my mind?

"Well, you thought wrong. In your case jumping in front of the Hogwarts Express was a _far_ better idea – so much better, in fact, that there aren't even enough words in the English language to illustrate the utter brilliance of it," I growl, truly irritated this time.

Trying to pay no heed to him anymore, I walk towards the tub that is situated in the middle of the classroom. Next to it lays a sponge, which I assume is meant for scrubbing off all the dirt. I pick it up and push it into the soap-filled water. Then I retrieve and squeeze it, heavily sighing as I do so, looking at the room surrounding me. Immersed in total atrocity, I hunch forward on my knees and start cleaning the stone tiles of the floor.

The work is horrible, and my arms ache much earlier than I'd expected them to, but after a while you accomplish the physical exercises of your limbs mechanically, with your thoughts floating elsewhere. Twenty minutes must have passed, and I was just thinking about Albus' new girlfriend (tall, blonde, dumb, Z-cup) when suddenly I turn my head and realize -

"Malfoy? Are you even _helping_?"  
  
There the sickening sod is sitting, legs very loosely crossed, his elbows planted behind his head, on the only desk he probably tidied up, with his eyes closed. Next to him lays his robe, blazer and Slytherin tie, which means he's only wearing his Oxford shirt – so white it wouldn't be misplaced in one of those advertisements for detergent in Witch Weekly – and very expensive looking pants. When all my senses rush back at me, I can hear him breathing a little louder than usual.

Oh, Merlin.

This utter, total, complete, absolute, true, unadulterated excuse for a Wizard has _fallen asleep_.

"MALFOY!"

No reaction.

Alright, Malfoy. If that's the way you like it, two can play that game ...

SPLASH!

"_Fuck_!"

I watch in content how Malfoy jumps off his _bed_ in flabbergasted agony.

"Shit, shit, shit," he curses frantically, "my _shirt_! My _pants_! What the fuck happened to my –" Then he suddenly looks up and his brows knit together when comprehension dawns upon him. "You! You! _You!_"

"Who? _Me_?" I ask sarcastically, pointing my index finger at my chest questioningly.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem?" He explodes. "Do you have any idea of the value of these clothes, Weasley? No, you don't, 'cause it's more than the financial possessions of the Weasleys and Potters _combined_!"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, boo-hoo."  
  
"Yes, _boo-hoo_!" He goes on shouting. "I understand you and your friends are used to primitive, prehistoric _caveman_ manners of solving a problem, but throwing dripping wet, not to mention extremely muddy,_ sponges_ at sleeping people? Merlin, Weasley, aren't you taking it a _tad_ too far?"

Alright, so now I'm getting mad myself.

"A tad too far? Have you gone _bonkers_? You were fucking taking a _nap_ while I was working my _ass _off!"

"Well, I'm not made for this kind of work, you know," he retorts, "we've got _house-elves_ for such unpleasant activities!"

I stare at him in disbelief. "You _what_? You're not _made_ for this? Merlin, are you _delusional_? What the hell is possessing you?"

"Nothing possesses me, Weasley, _I_ am the one possessing everything."

"Merlin! What do you think? That there's some device in parent's bodies to determine whatever function their baby will fill in? That babies are created with a specific purpose, some to clean muddy classrooms and some to sip from golden spoons? Do you even _know _how to utilise a sponge, or are you incapable of a simple chore like that? Shit, Malfoy, you're even more of a cad than I originally thought, if that's even possible," I snap, bristling, with my hands placed firmly on my hips.

It stays silent for about ten seconds, and I'm nearly dancing in joy at the thought that I rendered the infamous Scorpius Malfoy speechless, when:

"Oh, were you saying something? Sorry, I tuned you out. You know, to avoid a bore-related death or anything similar," drawls Malfoy, inspecting the non-existing dirt on his nails.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Alright, alright," I force myself not to lunge at the epitome of arrogance in front of me, "let's make a deal. I will shut up in order to get you to work."

"So basically you promise not to utter a word if I help you?" Malfoy repeats rather dumbly.

But then again, Malfoy does _everything_ rather dumbly.

"Yes."

"Not a _single_ word?"

"Indeed. Or is this too much to understand for your pathetically small brain?"

"No, no," his lips quirk into a smirk, "I've grasped the concept more than entirely."

Something tells me I've just signed my own death sentence.

But hey, everything to get this over and done with!

"Okay, so the deal starts _now,_" I state.

The smirk never leaves his face. "Sure."

And then he does something greatly nauseating.

He calmly start unbuttoning his not-so-white-this-time shirt, slowly, obviously not in a rush at all, and with each button he opens, a little more of his pale, muscular chest becomes visible. I blink as I find myself unable to tear away my gaze – like some stupid supernatural _force_ or something – from his lean upper body that I am now involuntarily staring at ... And oh, the horror! Now he is stripping down his pants too!  
  
What is this boy? An _exhibitionist_? The kind of mentally inept person to visit children gardens in a black coat with nothing underneath?

"You know, I believed you to be many things," his superior voice comes out of the blue, "like hideously repellent, or socially retarded, or boring as hell – but a voyeur was never among them. I guess we'll have to fix that now."

I open my mouth to retaliate (something like 'I'd rather drink a whole bottle of a troll's urine than to look at _you_ undressing!'), but he is faster: "Quiet now, Weasley, The deal, remember? And for your information, I don't particularly fancy the concept of you receiving the honour of watching me stripping down. I have no other choice, since _someone_ moistened my clothes and frankly, I'm colder with wet clothes on than with them off."

I snort, since it's all I can do, and decide to get back to work.

Fortunately, Malfoy does the same.

* * *

Three eccentrically pained hours have passed. I have scrubbed exactly three desks and numerous stone tiles. My fingers ache. My back aches. My elbows ache. My neck aches. My head aches. My knees ache. My legs ache. _Everything_ aches. Yet, while the physical labour is seriously getting on my nerves, I can handle this. What is a lot harder to handle is the fact that Malfoy is still strutting around in only his green, satin _boxers_. And despite all the rubbish he was spreading earlier, he does fancy the concept of me 'receiving the honour of' watching him nearly naked. I swear, the boy is always in my vision just to _spite me_.

"You know," he begins when he notices me glaring at him with no apparent reason, "I kinda like this predicament. You not talking, I mean. It feels so... deliberating."

I sigh in exasperation.

"But then again, it's only fair," he continues, "you get to look at my heavenly body, while I get to enjoy the silence."

I simulate gagging sounds.

"Yeah, don't worry, I'd get sick too if I'd be stuck in a body like yours," he walks towards me while giving me a shameless once-over.

The problem is that I probably _do_ look horrible. I mean, think disorganised outfit, flushed face and above all, mud stains everywhere.

But _whatever_.

There no one worthy of impressing in this room anyway.

Malfoy comes to halt only a mere inches away from my body. "You know, if you ask nicely I could always lend you a financial hand. To pay the doctors to reconstruct your body, and all."

If I could shoot bullets with my eyes, the boy would be resembling cheese right now.

"It even keeps me up at night, sometimes, the mystery why you even had a few boyfriends," he has the nerve to look genuinely confused at this. "Speaking of which... what were you saying about Stephano earlier?"

His plan is about as foolproof as his father was brave in his Hogwarts days. I know he wants me to talk, so I break the deal and he's able to drop the work. Newsflash, Malfoy: not all girls are as dim-witted as your average conquests!

Therefore, I hold up my sponge in a very threatening manner, near to his face. My neck hurts, but I need to tilt my head up to look at him. I do this partly due to my gigantic sack of pride, and partly because I have no desire the study the muscles of his chest whatsoever.

His frosty grey eyes stare down at me and mouth is curled into the ever-present smirk. "Oh come on, Weasley. You know you're just _dying _to tell me, aren't you?"

The sad thing is that he's right, but I press my lips together with all the pressure I can bring.

"I bet you just wanted to get the rise out of me," he moves even closer, and I ask myself why the hell he is doing this, "because my best mate couldn't possibly hold any interest in you."

The sponge is dangling dangerously close to his aristocratic nose, but he pays it no mind and keeps holding my gaze.

"Oh, but I think I know. He probably needs help for his homework or something. I mean, that's basically all you are, isn't it? Brains for rent?"

That's it.

With all my might I smash the sponge in the middle of his smirking, aghast face. The mud and soap mingles on his cheeks and then start dripping off his chin. At first I'm urged to laugh hysterically at this hilarious sight, but as soon as he recovers from the shock and his eyes fly open, I'm more inclined to duck away from his thundering eyes that promise me every kind of retribution.

"Alright, Weasley," he growls in a malicious voice, "you're going down."

And with that he lunges forward and pushes me to the ground. I stumble and fall backwards, but I manage to grab his arm before doing so. The result is that he trips too and all of his weight is crushing me. He has the upper hand, however, and pins my struggling form down by gripping my wrists with his strong hands. I'm ready to spit in his dirtied face, but then I notice him letting go of one wrist and turn my head. That's when I notice him seizing the water tub.

That's the last thing I can register before I feel an entire bucket of ice cold water literally washing over my senses.

And that's exactly the moment where a door cracks open.

Oh, _shit_.

"Sweet _Merlin_."

That's the first reaction a startled Professor Goldstein comes up with, looking down at our compromising positions. Me, lying flat on my back, on the filthy floor, soaking wet from tip to toe, with an almost-naked Malfoy hanging over me on his knees? Our eyes widen in unison when we both realize the condition. Malfoy jumps off me as if getting burned.

"This – this," Professor Goldstein sputters, "is unbelievable. This surpasses even my wildest imagination. I think – I think another detention is in order here."

I crawl up and start objecting: "Sir, it really isn't what it looks like..."

"Well, if it isn't what it looks like, it means that you two were fighting, again, which is just as bad, if not _worse_. And didn't I ask to you to _clean_ the classroom?" our Professor yells.

We both wisely keep our mouths shut.

"It's a _mess_! A _total_ mess!" he exclaims with his hands in his hair. "Tomorrow you're going to clean it up _completely_! I don't care how long you have to work! Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock, I expect you here straight on time!"

Okay.

I am _so_ dead.

* * *

Phew, that was slightly longer than usual. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the detention as much as did. Don't forget to review, even if it's just for the fast update ; Until next time!


	6. Six

Phew! I'm really on a roll with this quick updating thing. I would've updated even sooner if I hadn't been accused of plagiarism, unrightfully so, and was so pissed off I didn't want to write for days.

But anyway. Thanks for reviewing, y'all!

**Disclaimer: **don't own any of the characters. JK Rowling does.

**SIX**

That night I have a strange dream.

I'm back in that class room, slightly distorted in different colours yet still undoubtedly the same, and I'm lying on the ground, with my back flatted. My limbs are lifelessly hanging next to me, and I can't seem to find the ability to move them. Fairly panicked, my eyes dart everywhere across the room – but then I hear malicious, piercing laughter besides my ear and I shudder, because I can't turn my neck to check who it is.

"Well, well," a voice drawls whisperingly, "never knew you were scared so easily, Weasley."

I don't recognise the voice. It's rich, low, intense and familiar yet I'm unable to exactly pinpoint the person behind it. The function of my own vocal cords seems to fail me.

"Would you grow more scared when I did ... this?" And suddenly, I feel something slightly moist trailing from my earlobe down to my collar bone. Freezing up, I press my eyelids closed.

"Are you scared, Weasley?" the voice continues tauntingly, while the kisses burn on my skin. "Or are you enjoying it?" My skin melts, slowly. "You are, aren't you?"

And listlessly, I notice the tingling in my veins fading away, I notice how, calmly, I have renewed the art of moving my fingers, one by one, my joints, my shoulder, my toes, my knees – and before I fully register this pleasure, the presence of the person becomes more and more apparent, more _concrete_. That's also the point where my hands start leading their own lives, and end up stroking through satin hair.  


The voice booms through the air. "You like it. Open your eyes."

Next my eyelids crack open and I see the same ceiling I've been facing every morning, for the past weeks. I groan, smudge my face and prepare to throw the warm covers off me. Only then I progress Malfoy's yelling from downstairs.

"Fuck, Weasley! It's a quarter to ten! Get _up_, you stupid _bint!_ He's going to screw us both if we're not on time!"

Shit.

I stop dead in my tracks.

I mean, not shit because I'm late. I mean, shit because it finally occurs to me that it was _Malfoy_ speaking to me in that crazy dream.

* * *

"You look miserably ugly today, Weasley," Malfoy mutters while we rush towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts class room with bagels in our hands.

I have felt awkward around him since the moment I descended the stairs ten minutes ago and therefore haven't given him one look. Now I finally do so and notice that he has no right to speak _at all_. He looks positively _dreadful_, dark circles under his eyes, ashen complexion, tousled hair. He looks quite green, in fact. "Kind of how you look yourself?"

I expect some nice comeback by which I'd surely feel offended, but no insult is heard. Actually he doesn't even pay attention to what I said. Frowning, I wave my hand in front of his face. "Swallowed your tongue or something, you prick?"

"Shut the fuck up, Weasley," he growls, rubbing his temples, "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit today."

I'm surprised. And actually sort of thrown off too. "What? You _started_ it, didn't you?"

"I was making a statement that didn't require response," he sneers.

"Are you always such a bundle of joy in the morning?"

"Only when Violetta Chang pops up in my room in the middle of the night, accompanied by a bottle of Firewiskey and the blatant invitation of sucking me off," he replies, cracking a smirk.

Overall imagine of Violetta Chang: a sixth year Ravenclaw, thus intelligent, long-legged, very conveniently raven-haired, caramel-eyed beauty. She's been Malfoy's on-and-off (but mostly off) girlfriend for the past two years, and even though I shouldn't say this about a rather good acquaintance of mine, she's a complete _sleaze_ when it comes to the boy. Or so I heard. Involuntarily. From him.

(And from Louis, whom she refused to shag for the second time. His ego was broken beyond repair, let me tell you.)

I gasp in indignation. "You're totally abusing your status as Head Boy! And how the hell did she know our password?"

"Girls like Chang _deserve_ the password just for their _techniques _alone," says Malfoy matter-of-factly.

He's not even joking.

"Well, _you_ deserve your hangover just for your maliciousness alone," I retort.

He scoffs: "Real mature, Weasley."

"Just like you then, the _poster child_ for maturity," I snap back.

He simply shakes his head in a clearly aggravated manner and furthermore ignores me. This vexes me to no end, because I'm so used to his insults that it bothers me when he acts as if I don't exist. Then it vexes me that _this_ vexes me.

We arrive at the classroom, where Professor Goldstein is waiting for us. He welcomes us with a buoyant smile on his face, like he invited us for one of his slumber parties or something. "Good morning, Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy! And right on time too, I see."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," murmurs Malfoy sarcastically.

"I couldn't sleep this night 'cause I was so excited," I say through clenched teeth, on the same tone.

We exchange looks. And then pretend we didn't.

"Well, well!" Professor Goldstein claps his hands enthusiastically, sardonically revelling in our misery. "Let me get your wands, please!"

We begrudgingly hand over our favourite possessions.

Professor Goldstein motions to get into the room. We follow his instructions – silently swearing – and the old man sends us one last smile before taking off.

* * *

We've been stuck in this room for approximately fifteen minutes now, and Malfoy has yet to utter one word to me. Don't ask me why, but this is unnerving me terribly. What unnerves me more, however, is that whenever I look at him I am reminded of my dream and questions run rampant in my head. Why didn't I recognise his voice earlier? Why was he invisible until I closed my eyes? Why did he kiss me? More importantly, why did I end up enjoying those kisses?

Just – just _why did I dream of him?_

I mean, I hardly ever remember my dreams. It sucks, I know, but it's true. And trust me, I haven't developed a silly crush on Malfoy since this year, in spite of all the predictions of my female friends. There is no sense whatsoever for me to dream of him.

Yet I did.

Maybe they should just ship me off to St.-Mungo's.

(Taking the rest of the female population of Hogwarts with me.)

"Hey Weasley," Malfoy calls out, breaking the silence.

I look up to find him sitting against the wall. "What?"

"Want to know something funny?"

"Let me think for a moment – uh, no."

"I'm going to tell you anyway. I haven't done anything while you've been working."

Figures. "_What_?"

"For some reason you haven't looked at me once since we've been in this classroom, so blame it on yourself. But before you go all wild Banshee on me, I'll tell you a secret," Malfoy says grinning, which gives me the inkling suspicion he's up to no good.

Then he pulls out a wand out of his pocket and I know I'm right _again_.

I gape at him. "Where did you get that wand from?"

"Violetta's skills in the bedroom aren't the only thing she's good for," he winks.

Torn between disgust (at his wink) and total relief (at the appearance of Wonder Wand), I continue to stare at him. Another cocky smirk finds its way on the boy's face in response.

"Merlin, I might just rival your uncle's hero status with this stunt," he comments, full of himself. "Scou-"

"No!" I interfere brusquely. "Stop!"

Malfoy throws me an impatient look. "What?"

"Don't do it all in one time," I advise. "Professor Goldstein might return at some point to see how we're doing, and it would be quite implausible for us to have it all cleaned up then, no?"

"Hmm," he seems disturbed at what he's about to say next, "I suppose you're right. _Scourgify_!"

With a flick of Violetta's wand, Malfoy indeed tidies only a small part of the muddy desks and floor. I almost beam at him, but then I have to think about my dream and whom I was going to smile at, and I suck it up.

* * *

"So, Malfoy, do you ever get sick of being worthless scum?" I quip up.

Okay. So sue me. Half an hour of doing absolutely _nothing_ and you'd be trying to make conversations with Scorpius Malfoy too.

It takes him several seconds to form a reply, given his current position. He's still sitting – or maybe hanging is a more accurate term – against that wall with his eyes closed. He might actually have been dozing off, but I'm way too bored to ever let that happen. "Worthless, Weasley?"

"You heard that right."

"Well, _worthless_ isn't exactly the first word coming to mind when discussing me or any of the Malfoys, really." He arches an eyebrow. "I'm worth a fortune. But then again you're probably one of those annoying, idealistic people who don't believe in the value of money and think you 'can't buy happiness', so maybe in your world ..."

I roll my eyes. "You didn't answer my question. And for your information, I _do_ believe in the value of money, but it _really_ can't buy happiness."  


"Your question doesn't count anyway. It was a lame attempt to break the silence because you were bored – don't bother to deny it," he drawls, popping his elbows behind his head.

My eyes hit the ceiling. "Sure thing, albino."

"It was."

"Right ..."

"It _was_, Weasley."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy, whatever you say."

"You know what's really pathetic about you?" Malfoy sits up straight now. "That it would take somebody to _Crucio_ you before you admit to be wrong."

I huff in peevishness and exclaim: "That's not true!"

"See? You're only proving my point," he chuckles.

Realizing the bastard _does_ have a point, my frown deepens. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"Hate to break it to you, but you are," he shrugs, like it wouldn't matter to him what I would say anyway.

"Well, I'm not exactly to only flawed person in this room," I point out. "At least _I_ don't claim myself to be perfect."

"If I were you I wouldn't either," he comments mockingly.

I sigh heavily. "Oh, please. Just shut your bloody trap, will you?"

"Of course, since you asked so nicely."  


The not-so-funny thing is, we both know that in a certain sense, he has won.

I groan in agony.

* * *

I have followed Malfoy's example and am now hanging against the wall as well. On the opposite of the room, that is. Malfoy is quiet, probably nursing his hangover, but I know for a fact that he's not asleep due to his very controlled breathing and a shift in movements every now and then. I haven't been observing him, _honestly_, it's just that he's right in front of my vision. It is occurring to me once again that I _hate _him.

I really do.

I hate _everything_ about him. I hate the way talks, sneers, smirks, scowls, scoffs, snarls, spats, grimaces, grins, and so on. But what I hate the most, is when he is not doing any of those things. Like now, for instance. I mean, the boy probably has downed an entire bottle of Firewiskey on his own last night and _look at him now_. With a nearly _green_ face, and nearly _purple_ bags under his eyes, and his hair all out of place, he still looks like he could just fill in a vacancy for male model for Witch Weekly and get the job right on the spot. The level of unfairness in this fact is pure _torture_. People as obnoxious as Scorpius Malfoy should be born with acne sprawled all over their face and arms and back, instead of the flawless complexion he is sporting. They should get stuck on their fourteen-year-old height instead of growing to at least six feet. Their cheeks should never lose their baby fat instead of developing a pair of perfectly structured, high cheekbones. Their hair should be greasy and untameable instead of smooth and naturally platinum. They should go through their Hogwarts days unnoticed by every female specimen, instead having their looks analyzed and _dreamed about_ (!!) by even the girls that _don't_ like them.

Throwing a desk his way wouldn't land me in Azkaban, now would it?

* * *

"So, Weasley, do you ever get sick of being such an uptight bitch?"  


Malfoy's voice seems to come from miles away. In a daze and energy-drained, I lift one eyelid open and see him looking at me eagerly. I vaguely remember something he said earlier and decide to use it against him.

"I was almost sleeping, Malfoy," I say accusingly, "so don't try to strike up a conversation with me 'cause you're bored."

"That's more your style, so I'll leave that up to you. I was just really wondering."

I yawn ostentatiously. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not an uptight bitch."

"I beg to differ," he contradicts. "I mean, I bet you're still a virgin. And that you've never been drunk."

Suddenly very awake, I straighten my pose and glare at him. "_Of course_ I've been drunk before! And whether I'm a virgin or not is really the _last_ thing I'm going to tell you!"

Merlin, my best friends are Louis Weasley and Albus Severus Potter, practically the _human equivalent_ of 'party'. So yes, Malfoy, I believe I have been quite drunk before!

"Well, _if_ you're speaking the truth," he pauses meaningfully, to emphasize his disbelief on the matter, "I'm willing to bet twenty galleons that you'd never become drunk somewhere not legitimate..."

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" I demand curiously.

He gives me a wide smirk and swiftly picks a flacon out of his inner pocket. "Violetta's wand isn't the only thing I brought."

"What is in there?" I ask, knowing very well what is in there.

"Very strong Firewiskey. So, Weasley, what do you think?" Malfoy is beyond amused, I can tell.

I look at him incredulously. "Didn't you have a _hangover_?"

"Yeah, but what's better to nurse a hangover than to become drunk again?"

"You are _so_ unworthy of your Head Boy badge!" I exclaim, completely shocked.

He cocks his head slightly. "And you are so predictable. See? There you are. Uptight. Can I have my twenty galleons now?"

He's handing a challenge on a silver platter. And who am I to decline?

"Fuck you, Malfoy. If you want to start a game, let's play," I smirk, rivalling one of his own.

He looks positively flabbergasted for a minute. Then he quickly recuperates and scoots closer to me. Before we spice things up a bit, however, he Scourgify's the room for another part. When he's done, he turns to me, his eyes flashing in provocation.

Alright. What have I gotten myself into this time?

* * *

Stay tuned for part II of this detention! I'm hoping to update as soon as possible :


	7. Seven

First of all: I have created a livejournal! Anyone who's interested, go and take a look or add me or something. I love the concept!

Second of all: bad news. My vacation is over, which leads to school, which leads to loads of work, which leads to great lack of spare time, which leads to less frequent updating. So please be understanding when it'll take me longer than a few days or a week to update. I'm doing my best!

**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns the deal.

**SEVEN**

When I bring the flacon to my lips, Malfoy keeps on looking at me with some strange combination of fascination and expectation plastered upon his face. There is also something smug about his whole appearance. Which brings me to calculate.

You see, I have fashioned a plan more fabulous than any plan I have fashioned before. I'm telling you, Einstein's transcendental thinking was nothing compared to my extraordinary creativity today.

When I pause slightly before I drink, Malfoy starts to smirk. "What is it, Weasley? You aren't _backing down_, are you?"

"Of course not," I assure him. "It's just that I have thought of something."

"Can't you just go one minute without all that analyzing of yours?" He rolls his eyes.

Suddenly in a very good mood, I smile in a manner just as smug as he was looking before. "I certainly can, but I have to compensate for your deaf-muteness, you see."

"Whatever," he disregards my insult. "Just go on and do pray-tell what ridiculous idea you've come up with this time."

"It's not an exactly an idea… It are _conditions_. I want to play this game, but only on _my_ terms," I explain.

"What terms? That we'll be keeping our clothes on? Because I can promise you, _that_ won't be a problem."

"Wow, Malfoy, are you _sure_?" I ask sarcastically, feigning a worried look. "I mean, I _sooo_ want to shag you right here and now on the floor, you have _no_ idea!"

He crinkles his nose in disgust. "I think you just scarred me for life, Weasley."

"Well yes, that was what I was hoping to achieve. Now, my terms."

"Alright. I'm dying to hear," he mutters, urging me to get it on with.

"It's only one term, actually," I say to his great relief. "I demand a free request. A free request for a _drinking game_ whenever _I_ want to start it.

He looks at me in disbelief. "That's it? Merlin, Weasley, if you were always this agreeable and reasonable, there could've been a chance that I didn't have to throw up every time I saw your face."

"Good," I say, eyes glittering in wickedness, before I finally take a swig from the flacon …

… which makes me feel as if my throat is burned open.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy!" I cough. "What _is_ this stuff?"

"_Fire_whiskey, the finest," he replies, winking, and takes the flacon from me to take a sip himself.

* * *

Ten draughts on my part, and twenty draughts on Malfoy's part later, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Violetta brewed this drink _herself_. I can't believe it, but my head is getting a tad woozy already. And by the looks of it, the same goes for the blond next to me.

"No, _Violetta_ didn't brew it herself. Her dad – a Muggle – did. Then she secretly poured it into this flacon 

and charmed it to be endless," Malfoy says conversationally.

I look at him with wide eyes. "Oh Merlin, I didn't know I said that thought _aloud_!"

"You did," replies Malfoy, cracking a grin.

"Oh, well…" I mumble, and suddenly remember something. Feeling warm all over, I shout: "Oh, I know what we can do! It's time for my free request!"

"My ears, woman!" he curses in return.

Rolling my eyes, I take another sip. "Do you know the game 'truth or dare'?"

"I'm not born yesterday, Weasley," he drawls, but his voice is lacking its usual venom.

Ladies and gentlemen, give the Firewhiskey an award, please!

"Too bad," I respond, on the same light tone. "I could've lived with Josh Smith as Head Boy."

He gapes at me in genuine amazement. "_Smith_? That _Hufflepuff pansy_?"

Josh Smith is a very introvert, serious Hufflepuff who wouldn't have been misplaced in Ravenclaw, if it weren't for his kind, extremely benevolent nature. He's about the most obliging, helpful person I've ever met. He's also the laughing stock of people like Malfoy, unfortunately, which causes me to nearly _scream_ at the boy to grow some backbone. But no avail.

"He's alright, Malfoy!" I defend. "You just have something against Hufflepuff!"

And then he does something entirely odd.

He starts _laughing_. "Hey!" I squeal, hitting his chest. It's hard as a _rock_. "Ow!"  


"What, ow?" he asks, only laughing harder at my useless attempt to hurt him.

"I might've just broken my wrist!" I exclaim with my hands in the air, losing balance slightly.

This time he nearly falls over. "Oh, come on! You have _such_ feeling for drama!"

And, you know, it _is_ kind of funny when you think about. I mean, Malfoy laughing _with_ me instead of _at_ me. So I take another look at him – rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach – and before I know it, I fall backwards too and start hiccupping with him.

"You know," he manages to choke out after a while, "you just paid me a huge compliment, did you know that?"

I abruptly stop giggling. "What? I did _not_!"

"Yes, you did! You implied that my chest is hard as stone earlier," he tells me proudly, finally able to control himself. I pass him the flacon. He understands the message and drinks.

"So what if it is?" I shrug.

He almost topples over in surprise. "Did you just _admit_ that you think I have a nice chest?"

"Oh, get over it, Malfoy," I tell him. "And weren't we going to play 'truth or dare?'"

"Why don't we just skip the 'dare' part and go right on to 'truth'?" He suggests, clearly with something up his sleeve.

In my intoxicated state, I find this a good idea. What do I have to hide, anyway?

"Alright. Let's get it on with, then," I ventilate. "Or do you need any time to get ready?"

"I'm all set," he smirks. "You may even begin."

The strange thing is, that when I look at him now, sitting Indian-style, facing me in all his Slytherin, One-Eyebrow-Raised-glory, I don't feel the usual annoyance bubbling up inside of me. Instead I feel fuzzy and giddy – and completely prepared for this little game of ours. I cannot wait to find out all kinds of embarrassing things about the otherwise so untouchable Scorpius Malfoy!

"Okay. Favourite colour?" I ask innocently.

"Green. You?"

"Oh, _typical_," I comment before answering. "Red."

He frowns. "Why red?"

"It's not your turn so I get to ask two questions later as well. Red, because it's such an interesting colour. It's the colour of so many different facets. Love, passion, blood, war, hate ... It's the colour of extremes, you know what I mean?" I ramble, almost forgetting who I am talking to.

"No, I don't know what you mean, and that leaves you only one question this turn," he notes haughtily, and I remember instantly.

"Alright, Mr. Particular," I snap, "only one question for you. What house would you be in if you weren't in Slytherin?"

His brows knit together, contemplating. "Good question, actually. I can't imagine being in any of them. Hufflepuff is out of the question, since I would never consider someone else's needs above my own. Scratch Gryffindor too, because I'd certainly never die for anyone else, let alone the greater good. Ravenclaw isn't really an option either – I mean, look at you or that cousin of yours. But if I have to choose the lesser of the three evils, it has to be the last one. I have a lot of girls in Ravenclaw, after all."

And I think that's the most Malfoy has _ever_ said to me. Without wanting to strip my skin off, that is.

"Well, what can I say, beside the fact that you're a pig?" I chuckle slightly.  


He takes a swig from the Firewhiskey and passes is onto me, before speaking up. "I wouldn't want it any other way, Weasley, trust me. Now, my turn. Are you a virgin?"

I know this is my cue to turn the events 180 degrees by hexing him with Violetta's wand, like I would in normal circumstances. Yet the alcohol has made my mind a tad hazy, and I feel as if a tolerant glow is hanging all over me. Therefore, I calmly answer, "No."

"The game is called _'Truth'_, Weasley," Malfoy snickers scathingly.

I roll my eyes at him. "Wonderful perception."

"So you _really_ aren't?" I watch in intrigue how fast his jaw drops.

"No," I confirm. "But now it's my turn. Why do you find that so hard to believe? And don't give me that crap about finding me hideous, because I know for a fact that I am _not_."

Alcohol loosens your tongue. That's for sure.

Malfoy, noticing this as well, smirks. Then, when he realizes what kind of question I actually asked, he seems in careful consideration. "Alright, so maybe you're not _completely_ hideous," he speaks up after a while, "but you always seemed kind of ... unattainable to me. Unreachable. Uptight, as I said before. I never thought you'd actually let anybody near your sweet cherry, really."

Alcohol truly _does_ loosen your tongue. We've established this for real now.

"Wow," I blink in astonishment. "That sounded almost like a compliment."

Malfoy drinks again. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he asks: "When, and who did you lose it to?"

"In the summer, on my sixteenth birthday," I say, and I can't believe I'm telling him this so effortlessly, "my boyfriend of the time, Tony."

The good thing is that the chances of Malfoy knowing Tony are very slim. Tony and I met through my older cousin James, whom Tony went to summer camp with before. He instantly made a wonderful impression: charming, kind, relaxed, handsome, and above all, clearly interested in me. We dated for six months, and broke up partly because I doubted my feelings for him, and partly because we weren't able to see each other much due to the unpleasant fact he attends Beauxtons. But nevertheless, I never regretted it. Sleeping with him, that is.

"My turn," I pipe up after a short silence. "When and to how did _you_ lose it? When you were three?"

He glares at me, but his eyes miss their usual piercing sharpness. His gaze probably looks as glazed over and unfocused as mine. "Ummmmmmm," he frowns deeply, "that's a hard one ... Fourth year, I think. I suppose I was very drunk, kind of like now," he suddenly lets out a short laugh, "otherwise it wouldn't have been with Olivia Parkinson."

"Olivia Parkinson? Wasn't she like, three years older or something?" I inquire curiously.

Not that I ever paid it much thought, but Malfoy's deflowering has always been a hot topic in the girl's bathrooms. Most votes, mine included, went out for Violetta.

"Only two. But she was really hot, and so am I, so no problem, right?" This is more a statement than a question, and I notice the beginning of a slight slur in his words. "She was a real nag though. Couldn't fucking stop whining if her life depended on it. Now, where were we ... ?" He pauses for a minute. "Oh, yeah. My turn. Who do you consider the best-looking boy in this school?"

He wears a very stuck-up expression – which is basically all he ever looks like, but this time only more pronounced – as if he expects me to say his name.

"Josh Smith," I reply curtly, without a flinch.

Malfoy simply shakes his head. "No."

"Yes," I don't give up.

"No," he repeats.

I stare at him, defiantly. "Yes."

"No way!" He shouts, but he's looking less sure of himself every second. "No fucking way."

I keep staring, forcing the ends of my mouth to stay into place.

"You're serious. Oh Merlin, you're actually _sodding_ serious," he says then, totally dumbfounded.

Maybe I should inform you about Josh Smith's looks.

Let's just say that all his niceness is deeply hidden under heaps of unattractiveness.

"Yes, I am," I manage to bring out, but I cannot longer contain my laughter. And once the first giggle escapes my lips, I can't stop. I break into a gigantic laughing fit, like Malfoy earlier.

"Shit, Weasley!" He hits my shoulder softly with his fist. "You almost delivered me a heart attack! Consider my ego the next time you decide to be funny!" But now he starts chuckling too. Then, shuddering, "Imagine, Smith the Hufflepuff pansy chosen over me! The _horror_!"

Still smiling broadly, I begin thinking about his question. I reflect on the most handsome boys in school, containing Albus, Louis, Zabini, and, unfortunately, Malfoy. Eliminating both Albus and Louis for being my cousins, and Malfoy for obvious reasons, which leaves Zabini. The only obstacle is the little fact that Zabini is Malfoy's best mate and probably doesn't need any ego boosting. Therefore I'm back to my cousins, because Malfoy himself is absolutely out of the question.

"Louis Weasley," I answer eventually.

He arches an eyebrow. "So you're into incest?"

"Suuuure thing," I say sarcastically, but I faintly start noticing the slur has subtly made its way into my words too. "Okay, a question for you. Have you ever ... been in love?"  


I don't know the actual reason behind it, but I am very interested to hear what he has to say. He just seems so incredibly void of all emotions that could possibly resemble love. I have never seen him hold hands with a girl in an innocent way. Never.

He leans in, towards me, holds my eyes, his knees almost touch mine. "I haven't. You?"

"I don't know," I half-whimper truthfully, suddenly very aware of his near presence. My head is spinning enough as it is, and now there's some insufferable yet undeniably handsome male as good as hanging over me, carrying a wave of heavenly cologne with him. The remarkable thing is that I've had him 'hanging' over me before, but that _never_ made me self-conscious. Or tingling. Or a little warm.

Return that award the ladies and gentlemen gave the Firewhiskey earlier.

"I'm getting on your nerves, aren't I?" He whispers in a suggestive tone – a tone I'm not used from him – while he leans in further, using his forearms as support now.

In return, I push my back against the wall. In a flash I start feeling dazed and disorientated, and while his intense light metal eyes bore through me, I manage to breathe: "It wasn't your turn."

"I _am_," he states softly, completely ignoring my comment. I expect him to smirk at this comprehension – or _anything_ familiar or ordinary or customary or habitual and not ... _this_ – but instead he does the _one_ thing I have never been the victim of.

He smiles.

Not a cocky grin, not a smirk, not even a _half-_smirk.

But a real smile.

"Just admit that I am and I'll tell you a secret," he continues in the soft tone, while taking me in with his gaze.

Inhaling deeply, I regain my senses and I seem to have found my voice back. "Maybe a little."

"Alright," _Damn that smile!_ "My secret. You have a fabulous body, Weasley. And don't look at me like that. Remember that morning in the bathroom?"

I nod silently. Of course I do.

"Well, as soon as you were out of there I had to take a cold shower," he winks insinuatingly.

Oh, Merlin.

I might as well _faint_ right now.

(Both due to alcohol and Malfoy's confession, in case you're wondering.)

"Uh, really, that – that's, uh," I stutter, my cheeks smouldering, "interesting."

Interesting? _Interesting_?

Yes. Trust me to get plastered and therefore to _inactivate_ my brain on the one moment I need it the most.

Malfoy hitting on me – that is.

Getting a hold of my own ridiculously stuttering, blushing, giggling teenage persona, I muster all of my courage. "I think it's time for a change of rules."

"Pray-tell," he commands lightly.

I try to subdue the tension twisting my insides by biting my lip. "Perhaps we should involve 'dare' back into the game."

"Yeah," his eyes – always those eyes – glisten with something I can't quite place. "I think we should ... and I'm a gentleman, Weasley. Ladies first."

"I dare you," I pause, needing this little intermezzo to calm my excitement, "I dare you to kiss me."

Malfoy scans my face – to make sure, I assume – and eventually the inspection comes to a halt at my lips. He nears, tantalizingly slow. I catch a whiff of his hot minty and alcohol mingled breath, and desperately try to remember who and what he is and who and what I am, but the Firewhiskey has knitted a way through my sensible mind.

Scorpius Malfoy is going to kiss me.

_Scorpius Malfoy._

"Oh, bloody _hell_."

Wait.

That isn't Malfoy's suave and seductive voice.

Isn't that a ... _feminine_ sound?

Malfoy snaps up his head. Looking like he's been hit by a train, he jumps away from me. I follow his example and I find the curved (and very, _very_ vague) figure of a gasping Lily Potter standing in the doorway, both her hands pressed against her mouth.

Oooooh, Merlin ...

Fully lacking any sense of balance, I struggle up. "Hey, uh, Lily."

"Are my eyes deceiving me?" Lily asks in total bewilderment. "Weren't you dating _Zabini_?"

Malfoy freezes in his movements. "_What_?"

"I'm not _dating_ him," comes my feebly defence, while seeking equilibrium at the wall. "I'm going on a date with him."

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" Malfoy exclaims.

"No, no," Lily elaborates helpfully, "no joke. And Rosie, I'm afraid that that's basically the same."

"It is," I object, but I hardly register anything I'm saying anymore.

In fact, I hardly register anything _anyone_ is saying anymore. I see their mouths moving, but my ears won't progress the sound.

"You guys," I bring out, "I think I'm a bit dizzy."

Dizzy. What an understatement. My head feels like a _merry-go-round_.

Hey, are those black polka dots in my vision?

"Rosie?" I can read Lily's lips. "Are you okay?"

Then I notice another person in the scenery.

Professor Goldstein's face is the last thing I note before the world fades to black.

* * *

Whew! Done! I actually worked quite hard on this chapter. Please let me know what you think ;)


	8. Eight

* * *

I'm sorry for the late update, but I think it'll be at this frequency for the upcoming time. I'm doing all I can, but school's a bitch.

Thanks for all the nice reviews, everyone!

**Disclaimer: **I own Harry Potter and its characters not.

**EIGHT**

I awake with the worst headache I've ever experienced.

It feels as if a bunch of monkeys with cymbals have wormed their way through the cells inside my head. There's a frequent throbbing in the back of my neck. I groan hoarsely while lifting my eyelids with great strain. My room is lit by a streak of sunshine falling through the curtains. I immediately close my eyes again – the sunlight is blinding, and only seems to increase the pounding.

Why in Merlin's name do I have a headache anyway?

I mean, I'm never sick. I once had the flu when I was eight, and broke my arm in second year at my first Quiddich game, but that's about it. Even when I have my period, I don't get much cramps or anything. And actually, this kind of pain doesn't even feel similar to any of those real illnesses I suffered. In fact, it feels like -

_Shit._

My eyes fly back open when realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

A _hangover_.

Pressing the palms of my hands against my forehead, I desperately try to remember _why_ I have a hangover. Hangovers require extraordinary amounts of alcohol, so that means I must've been drunk earlier. Extraordinary amounts of alcohol require an opportunity to stomach it, so that means I must've had a party or something -

But I didn't have a party yesterday! As far as I recall, I had _detention_!

Detention, detention … What did I do at the detention …

Suddenly a flicker catches my attention. I slightly turn my head and to my surprise I find a pile of Galleons lying on my night stand. Frowning, I slowly pop myself up my elbows, and see a note beside it. Curiously, I unfold it. In a clean and orderly handwriting, it says:

_'Weasley,  
_

_Here's the money I owe you. Your cheap, wasted antics were definitely worth it. I hope this teaches you not to play against a real Slytherin anymore._

_Malfoy_

_P.S.: You're excused from all of your classes today, thanks to that little Potter girl.'  
_

Yesterday's events overwhelm me in one flash.

Detention. Malfoy. Violetta's Firewhiskey. Drunker than drunk. And -

Oh no.

Drinking games.

I jump up as comprehension fills my senses. I played a drinking game with _Malfoy_. I played 'Truth' with _Malfoy_. I told him about the loss of my virginity. And … and then _I_ dared him to kiss me.

I dared him to kiss me.

This makes me officially a fucked up Head Girl.

And I don't mean just fucked up.

I'm talking cheating-on-your-wife-on-Valentine's-day, take-a-nosedive-in-front-of-the-entire-Great-Hall, congratulating-a-corpulent-infertile-woman-on-her-pregnancy-_fucked_-_up_.

I assume you get the image.

With my hands in my hair I stumble out of my bed. Completely thrown off my disbelief at my own antics, I try to recall what day it is …

And for the third time today my eyes triple in size.

It's Monday.

I'm supposed to be in _class_.

* * *

"Drink this."

I look at the blubbering green bottle Lily is handing out to me. Suspiciously I take it, and ask in a broken voice: "What's this?"

"A hangover cure," she tells me, "stolen from Albus' very own collection. Apparently Uncle George taught him how to brew it. It tastes horrible but it'll make you feel a whole lot better."

"Well yeah, I can't possibly feel any worse than I already do."

Which is an understatement.

I've been puking my guts out for the entire morning now. Initially I wanted to go to class, but by the time I'd put on my blouse I already felt the alcohol coming upwards, so I wisely discarded the idea. Since Lily is a very nice girl and also one of my best friends, she's considerate enough to drop by instead of eating her lunch. Which brings us the predicament where we are in now.

"You have to drink up the whole bottle," she advises carefully, as if she's well aware that this is not an inviting suggestion to make. "It's useless otherwise."

"Fine."

In total atrocity I swallow down the bottle in one gulp …

… and nearly spit it out again.

"Merlin, this is _disgusting_!" I exclaim, coughing.

She smiles. "Yeah, I know. But it's worth it."

She then sits down on my bed and folds her hands in an awaiting manner. I watch her and realize she's not here for my welfare but simply for her own, sick curiosity. Yes, well. That's what friends are for!

"I bet you want to know all about yesterday's detention, right?" I guess tiredly.

She grins sheepishly. "Am I that readable?"

"Like a book," I confirm.

"Well, come on, Rose," she retaliates, "you'd be in the same position as I am if you caught me kissing Scorpius Malfoy!"

"A) We weren't kissing, and B) you're always whining about how hot he is, so no, the surprise wouldn't all be that world shocking," I point out.

She's lucky that the potion's kicking in. Otherwise I would've pushed her out of this room a long time ago.

She rolls her eyes. "You would've been in I walked in a second later!"

"Don't remind me," I mumble under my breath.

"_Rose_," she gives me a stern look, "I'm serious here. I will stay in this room until you've told me _every single_ detail of the detention!"

I huff in annoyance. "Fine, but only if you fill in the parts after I blacked out first."

"Alright," she agrees. "So you remember fainting. Then Professor Goldstein rushed over to you check if you were okay, which gave Malfoy the chance to hide the Firewhiskey. Of course Professor Goldstein was full of questions, and if it weren't for me, you both would've been screwed. Malfoy could hardly form a coherent sentence, let me tell you. I told you'd been out of it earlier, and then started explaining something about your blood pressure, only I made it ten times as complicated as it should be-"

"Yes, the when-questioned-answer-as-complex-as-possible-technique," I interrupt, smiling.

"Indeed. So Professor Goldstein and Malfoy carried you all the way to your bedroom, and thank Merlin that A) I knew your password and B) Malfoy could blame the lack of balance on your weight."

I glare at her. "Oh, yes! Thank Merlin for all that _fat_ encircling my bones!"

"That's not how I meant it! You should be grateful, you know. If I hadn't saved you from this mess, you would've _hooked up _with Scorpius Malfoy, Professor Goldstein would've walked in on you two doing _the deed_," she eyes me meaningfully, "and he would've found the Firewhiskey, which would've resulted in another detention for drinking _and_ shagging Malfoy, repeat, _shagging Malfoy_, which in its turn would've soiled your perfect, prissy record. Oh, and you'd be stuck in Madame Pomfrey's evil clutches right now," she adds, like that's the worst part of all.

Oh, the horror!

"Lily Potter, you utterly _disgust_ me," I say, cringing at her presumptions. "I would've never 'hooked up' with Malfoy! An innocent kiss and sexual intercourse are two _completely_ different things!"

Inspecting her nails with utmost interest, she barely spares my comment any attention.

"I'm serious here." I wave my hand in front of her face.

"So am I, dear cousin," she replies, slapping away my aforementioned waving hand, "I don't care how many times you're going to deny it. I have an incredibly hard time imagining someone resisting Malfoy's advances. He's gorgeous, Rose. _Gorgeous_. G O R G E O U S."

"My spelling is just fine, thank you," I say drily, my eyes hitting the ceiling by now.

"Yeah, but your _sanity_ isn't. Hello! Take a look at the boy! Hot, rich, and he's even _smart_. I'd marry him in a _nanosecond_!" Lily exclaims, hitting me with my _own_ pillow.

Panic-stricken, I grab the pillow back. "Argh! Don't! As your husband, _his_ dad would be meeting _my_ dad again! And he'd have to attend our family dinners! And, bloody hell, maybe he'd even stand _next to me_ in the kitchen while I'd bake cookies for Christmas, and, and – "

I stop dead in my rambling as my eyes widen in sheer terror.

"And?"

Of course Lily is _beyond_ amused.

"He'd be able to influence my future children! He'd, he'd – he'd teach them how to smirk and kick _dying puppies_!"

"Rose," Lily says in a very diplomatic tone, "I declare you now officially as a nut. Well done. Can we now please continue where we left of? Which is, the explanation of how you almost kissed the boy?"

"Alright," I inhale deeply, "alright. If you promise to shut up about marrying him."

"I promise."

Thus, sighing, I start telling the tale.

* * *

I spend the rest of the day feeling quite perky in my common room. I take advantage of the gloomy weather by fixing myself some hot chocolate. It's almost like Christmas. The colder it looks outside, the cosier it is to be _inside_. I've also lit the fireplace, which causes a nice, warm glow to spread across the room. Because of the high temperature here, I've put on the boxer short Tony once gave me (hey, I like to sleep in it, alright?) and a white tank top to finish to outfit. Slouching in the easy chair, I'm using my spare time appropriately by completing most of my upcoming essays.

The thing is, the more I'm engrossed in homework, the less I have to think about last night.

I mean, _hello_!

Can you read the big, red letters on my forehead?

Yeah. It says: 'MAJOR FAILURE'

I'd send my mother an owl about this lunatic mistake of mine – she's cool, she's one of those I-manage-to-be-a-good-mother-while-being-very-understanding-too – but I think even _she_ won't be comprehensive about this one. And, seriously, Hermione Granger is one of those horribly forgiving good doers. But for as much as I gathered from conversations at dinner, neither mum nor dad beholds a soft spot for the Malfoys.

Apparently Draco Malfoy used to call mum a 'Mudblood' and mocked dad's poverty about every day.

And then they and Uncle Harry had to save his sorry ass during the final battle.

Boy, is karma ever a bitch.

"Oh, _shit_," an unappealing, pompous drawl comes out of nowhere, "my fellow Head partner is a _basket case_."

I look up from my Potions essay and find the object of my misery standing in front of me.

As if the repugnant odour of his perfume didn't give it away already.

"Good evening, Malfoy," I bite out in my most impolite tone. "What a pleasure, as always."

He smirks unpleasantly. "You were mouthing to yourself, Weasley. I'd expected you to be sober by now, but then again, last night was probably, no, _surely_ the first time you got so drunk."

It's nice to see some things never change.

Like Scorpius Malfoy will always stay a stupid, selfish cad. Even after we had a – _dare I say it?_ – good time together.

"I'm sure it was more than the alcohol that made me vomit as much as I did," I snap.

"Right. That's why you're looking so annoyingly healthy now."

"Look, Malfoy," I sigh. "I don't have time for this, alright? And I have a request."  


Arching an eyebrow, he taxes my figure. "A request?"

Suddenly I am very aware of my clothing. Or lack thereof.

_You have a fabulous body, Weasley ... Remember that morning in the bathroom? Well, as soon as you were out of there I had to take a cold shower._I remember it at once. That he said this.

"Not that kind of request, Malfoy," I roll my eyes at his broadening smirk. "I need to borrow something from you."

"My body, perhaps?" He suggest childishly.

"Your _notes_," I correct.

He grimaces viciously. "And why, pray tell, would I borrow you my notes?"

"Because you're _Head Boy_," I reply, not wanting to tell him that he's probably the only one with notes matching mine.

He folds his arms and walks towards me. "Why don't you ask Stephano? I bet he's more than willing to 'lend you his notes'."

A strange interpretation comes over me. "Malfoy, if you weren't you, I'd say you almost sound like ... some crazy, over possessive, jealous _boyfriend_."

"Well, lucky for me I am me, then," he says scathingly.

Rubbing my temples, I eye him tiredly. "Look, can I just borrow them, _please_?"

"No, you can't. Give me one good reason to lend them to you. One," he says, like the prick he is.

"Because I got drunk on your account last night?" I try.

He snorts. "For which you got twenty bloody Galleons, may I remind you."

"You suck, Malfoy," I scowl. "Honestly, don't you get _sick_ of being such an asshole all the time?"

"I don't _do_ nice, Weasley. Especially not to lesbian bints such as yourself," he snarls, glaring at me.

I open my mouth in protest, but he cuts me off before I get the chance to speak my mind.

Hatefully, he spits: "Furthermore, don't you get _sick_ of being such a slut all the time?"

"A _slut_?" I exclaim, indignant, repelled at his accusation. "_You_ are calling _me_ a slut?"

It's my duty to stay calm in situations like this, I know.

But Scorpius 'Manwhore' Malfoy calling _me_ a slut?

"Yeah, Weasley, I am. It's what you are, isn't it?" He growls back, losing his cool as well.

"Well, aren't we quite the hypocrite today?" I screech. "First you basically tell me I'm a fucking _prude_, and now you _dare_ standing here with a straight face, accusing me of the _one_ thing you are the _bloody_ epitome of?"

"I _did_ consider you a prude, up until recent events where you almost kissed your date's _best mate_! That's pretty low, Weasley, even for someone as miserable as you!" Malfoy shouts, with a flushed face to match his voice.

I jump off the couch and throw a nearby book at him. "Sod _off_, Malfoy! What's your fucking problem anyway? Have you developed a silly schoolboy crush on me or _what_?"

Unfortunately, he has good reflexes and catches the book. In return, he smashes it to the ground, and then looks at me with eyes narrowed to slits. "Listen to me closely, you fucking retard," he sneers dangerously, "never in a million years would I be delusional enough to fall in love with someone like you. The _only_ reason I care about this is because I care about Stephano, and he deserves way better than to be _cheated_ on!"

"I can't believe you!" I scream in despair, almost picking the book back up to hit myself with it.

"Well, start believing it!"

And those are his departing words.

He turns with a swish of his robes and storms towards his room, leaving me with a mouth hanging open in fury.

Breathe, Rose. _Breathe_.

It takes me approximately sixty minutes to calm myself down.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, feeling much better than the last time I did this, I know straight away that Malfoy's already gone or still sleeping in. Either means I don't have to face the prick, so I'm glad. When I'm come out of the bathroom, however, I see something lying at the desk in the common room that I hadn't taken notice of before. I walk over to it and come to a standstill when I realize what this is.

It are Malfoy's notes.

For me.

* * *

Yes, yes, heaps of swearing and hating in this chapter! Oh come on, don't say you expected them to be all lovey-dovey after their drinking game xD. Anyway, stay tuned for next chapter, where Stephano, Albus & Louis will make a reappearance!


	9. Nine

* * *

Hello, all.

1ST: WOULD SOMEONE LIKE TO BETA THIS STORY? If you do, please tell me so in a review or a PM. I'd be glad. _Very_ glad.

2ND: Next update is going to take a while. At least two weeks, if not more. I do have valid reason, this time. I'm on a school trip to Barcelona and, well, I'm not going to take my PC with me there, so.

**Disclaimer**: property of JK Rowling.

**NINE**

Good news.

With Malfoy's notes, I haven't fallen behind on Transfigurations. He may profile himself as a lazy prat about 99,99 of the time, but when it comes down to it he's one magnificent note-taker. Unfortunately, possessing a wonderful talent of scribbling down a teacher's words, doesn't pave the way to become a nice person.

Which, consequently, brings me to the bad news.

I feel quite awkward about borrowing those damned notes. And I also feel stupid about feeling awkward about borrowing some insufferable prick's notes when said prick nearly kissed me two days ago. And then I feel like a gigantic idiot for feeling _that_ way too, because that reminds me of my drunk unattractiveness, which makes me feel awkward _all over again_.

I mean, Merlin.

I'm like one of those alcoholics: trapped in a vicious circle, spiralling out of control.

(My drug being my emotions, that is.)

And oh, in case it's not horrifying enough that my personality is one nearly up the mark for St.-Mungo's, I have another piece of bad news.

You see, the class I am currently attending – the first in the morning - is Transfigurations. Transfigurations is, aside from Defence Against the Dark arts, the only subject Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin have together. Therefore, this is the one moment were Albus, Louis, Zabini, Malfoy, and myself, are seated underneath the same ceiling.

Which means I also have to _face_ the albino.

You can just _hear_ the atmosphere of tension and dislike crackling next to your ear.

Dreadful.

I know.

But, hey, that's not the whole story yet! No, no, of course not. Bad news always ships in packages. Like magnets attract magnets, bad news attracts bad news. See? It's one of those nature laws. You can't get past it.

So part III of today's episode of RWMHBAHKIHPL ('Rose Weasley Must Have Been A Heartless Killer In Her Past Life') is that I am dealing with part I & II _alone_. Alone, indeed. Why, you ask, since my two supposedly best mates are in the same room? Oh, well, let's just say that both of them have found themselves a new conquest to sit next to. What better opportunity to capture the hunted than class?

I mean, it is _so_ romantic out here!

(Yeah. Not.)

"Hey Weasley."

I tear away my murderous gaze from Albus, Louis and Malfoy, and am immediately blinded by the snow-white of Zabini's teeth.

Boy, does this wizard have a nice smile.

"Oh, hey Zabini," I greet, pleasantly surprised.

He puts down his books on the other side of my desk. "Is this seat taken?"

"Nope," I reply, motioning towards Albus and Louis with my eyes.

He sits down on my left and winks at me. "Great. And I know what you mean, by the way. I got tossed by my best mate too."

I follow his gaze and see that, indeed, at this very moment Malfoy is pulling out a chair for some _Gryffindor_ ditz. Merlin. What happened to the infamous Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry?

I suppose it stops applying when it comes to Breasts-Implanted-Bleached-Blondes.

"She'd look like his sister," I utter absent-mindedly, "if, you know, her hair wasn't so fake."

Zabini cracks a grin and looks at me in amusement. "He's had better, indeed. Speaking of which, check Violetta's face. She looks all set to kill."

I turn my head and see he has hit the nail right on the head. Violetta is glaring loopholes through both their sickening, flirting heads. I'm very much inclined to agree with her. I've always known that he's an insensitive, ice-cold, fickle player, but isn't he taking it a tad too far?

I mean, he and I almost _snogged_ last Sunday!

(Unfortunately – let's not forget to add.)

"Well, he _is_ a prick, after all," I mutter darkly.

Zabini shakes his head softly. "He's not _that_ bad."

I open my mouth to protest, but that's exactly the moment where Professor McGonagall walks in. I promptly shut it and immediately open my books and put ready Malfoy's earlier notes. Professor McGonagall gives me an appreciative nod when she passes our desk. I smile back, politely, and immediately shift my attention to today's lesson. That is, until I suddenly feel Zabini hanging over me.

"Weasley," he whispers, "are those _Scorpius's_ notes?"

Oh, great.

Just like me to attract boys who recognise their best mate's handwriting.

"Mmhmm," I mumble incoherently.

Zabini looks at me strangely, a deep frown etched upon his forehead. "That's _mental_. He hardly even lets _me_ borrow his notes!"

I blink. In response I steal a glance at Malfoy again, and find him smiling charmingly at the Gryffindor Ditz, whose defences have already crumbled down, by the looks of it.

Instantly, I switch my eyes back to Zabini, feeling a certain disgust welling up in my stomach.

"Whatever. He makes me sick. I bloody _hate_ him."

Zabini gives one last, silent chuckle before the conversation ends.

* * *

"I'm not talking to you."

Those are the first words spilling out of my mouth when the pleading faces of Louis and Albus appear in my sight, after I've planted a goodbye kiss on Zabini's cheek while leaving Transfigurations class.

"Oh, come _on_!" Albus exclaims, looking so much like his usual self it aggravates me. Ruffled hair, nonchalantly thrown on clothing. _Ugh_.

Flanking my other side, sandy-haired-suave-faced Louis puts a calming hand on my shoulder. "Why are you so mad anyway? You looked quite alright with that Zabini bloke next to you."

I slap his hand off, press my mouth into a thin line and keep on walking ahead sternly.

"_Roooooohooose_, don't be such a spoilsport," Albus whines.

Louis, being the stupid sheep he is, backs up the jet-haired boy. "Mate, we ought to leave her alone. And Rose, you're not being fair. _Please_? We were simply doing our _business_."

Business.

That's what they call it.

Don't you just want to _strangle_ them?

Pretending to not hear their begging, I keep my eyes focused on the road before me, nose tilted up in the air. I'm not really that mad, of course. I am merely waiting for the moment they'll go to extremes to achieve my forgiveness. Like, treating me like a princess for a day, or -

"I'll buy you lemon drops if you forgive us!" Albus strikes with his best weapon.

Louis, getting hold of the new strategies, follows Albus' path. "And chocolate frogs! Loads of them!"

A small smile is beginning to play on my lips. Finally, I concede slightly, and give them one last threatening look. "If you don't keep your promise I'm going to send an Owl to Aunt Ginny _and_ Aunt Fleur!"

They both gape at me in fright. "No, you wouldn't!"

I smirk a very Malfoy-inspired smirk. "I would."  


"That's blackmailing, you know tha –" Louis abruptly comes to a halt. "Hey, do you hear that?"

"What?" Albus and I ask synchronically, also standing still.

Louis places his index finger on his lips to shut us up, and then points to the hallway after the corner.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" a voice rings through the corridor, loud, clear, and above all, familiar. Rich, smooth, and indignant. Louis and Albus both send a meaningful look my way, and it becomes apparent that I'm not the only one recognising Zabini.

Another equally rich and smooth, yet ten times as haughty voice is heard. "Don't play dumb with me, Stephano. You _know_ what I'm talking about."

Unmistakably the sarcastic drawl of Scorpius Malfoy.

"Ooh, trouble in paradise," Albus whispers amusedly, giving Louis a silent high five.

I roll my eyes at their infantile behaviour, but can't help but grow a bit curious too.

('A bit' being rather underestimated.)

"Yeah, but I just don't see your point," the indignation in Zabini's tone increases.

"My point? Merlin, isn't that clear as plain daylight?" an exclamation on Malfoy's part.

Hah. A camera and then Albus, Louis and I would resemble those Japanese tourists flocking around the Big Ben.

"Shit, Scorpius," Zabini again, "it's really none of your business what I do with Rose Weasley."

Two heads turn to me with an audible snap.

I cast my eyes downwards.

"Have you gone _blind_?" Malfoy is obviously becoming angry. "If it has to be a girl from those insufferable redheads, you might as well have picked the younger one. What her name again? Lily or something. I hear she's nice in the sack."

Albus and Louis clench their fists, but I grab them by their shoulders before they're stupid enough to give us away. Things have just gotten interesting.

And ego-deflating.

But that's another story.

"Shit, do I ever hate that prick," Albus hisses dangerously.

Nevertheless, he has received the message and dropped his attempts to go and rearrange Malfoy's face. Which would only be fair (seeing as the prettiness of his face is so excruciatingly _un_fair), but I'm Head Girl and I need to draw boundaries somewhere.

Even if it goes at the expense of my aforementioned damaged ego.

"Want to know what I don't get?" Zabini sounds quite blazing too. "Why you still bother and try to make her out like some ugly, boring prude. _Nobody_ thinks so, alright? So dear Merlin, do us all a favour and _quit_ the nagging!"

Zabini is rather endearing, I must say.

Unfortunately Malfoy doesn't share my sentiment. "I'm not nagging, you prick. I'm only saying that you shouldn't lower your standards like that, mate! What would your mother say?"

"Are we talking about _blood_ now?" Zabini bellows.

Something tells me he's fed up with Malfoy.

Which is only _human nature_, so that's okay.

"Of course not," Malfoy's voice sounds alarmingly low, "you know perfectly well my parents have gotten over that issue a long time ago, so don't fucking bring it up. I'm only saying this because your mother is a woman with taste, and good taste does _not_ equal Weasley."

"Rose is perfectly fine, Scorpius. She's hot and smart and nice and polite, so _no_, my mother wouldn't have a problem with her," Zabini barks.

Oh, thanks, honey. You're not too bad yourself.

"Since when have you become such a whipped pansy?"

"About the same time you turned into such an intervening bastard?"

All three of us have to grin at this.

"Touché," Malfoy says, surprisingly normal all of a sudden, "but you'll have to do better. Maybe you can ask Weasley for a few lessons. She's got a nasty tongue."

To our amazement, we hear Zabini chuckling. "You wouldn't really mind if I seriously dated Rose, would you?"

Albus and Louis are tugging at my sleeves like two five-year-olds.

I 'accidentally' forgot to tell them about the date with Zabini.

"Hmpf," comes the muffled reply after a while, "I suppose not. Be careful though. She may be asexual. Or really hairy."

I suppress a gasp of shock. That- that _cretin_!

"Sure, mate," Zabini laughs loudly. In fact, his laugh sounds _suspiciously_ loud.

Like, very-nearby-loud.

Like, only-a-few-metres-away-loud.

Like -

"_Weasley_?"

Malfoy and Zabini in their own proper person are currently gaping at me, both with eyes widened in comprehension. They cried out my name simultaneously, only Malfoy spit it with venom and Zabini just yelled it with sheer shock.

"Oh, hey Zabini," I say cheerfully, not having the heart to reveal that not only me, but also my two best friends and cousins have witnessed their semi-fight.

Relief visibly washes over his handsome face. "We were just, uh, talking about you."

Louis snorts loudly, Albus snickers, and Malfoy sneers.

I look at them with distaste, and then smile innocently at Zabini. "Really?"

"Yes," he confirms, "I was telling Scorpius about our date Saturday."

"Well, that's more than we can say about Rose, isn't it?" Albus says accusingly.

Louis nods. "Yeah. Imagine the pain in that!"

Aha. Quite an awkward situation here.

But the thing is, I'm not really paying attention to any of them. Because in all honesty, the ethereally pale boy next to my so-called date is drilling waves of discrediting towards my direction with his intense, light eyes. And it is unnerving me. It is unnerving me in a way I never thought this boy would be able to.

_Don't you get sick of being a slut all the time… You almost kissed your date's __best mate__! That's pretty low, Weasley, even for someone as miserable as you… The only reason I care is because I care about Stephano, and he deserves way better than to be cheated on…_His supercilious voice bites into my conscience like acid. I hold his stare, and I bet he can see the guilt submerging my mind. I bet he can read it in my eyes. I bet he notices it in the biting of my lip. It takes all my willpower to not break the eye-contact, but I'm doing it. Because he doesn't deserve the satisfaction.

"The least you can do is explain, instead of ignoring us, Rose!"

I blink ten times.

That's not the voice inside my head.

"What's there to explain, Louis?" I ask, a little dazed, while Malfoy finally looks away.

"That you're dating _him_," he answers, pinpointing Zabini with his thumb.

I shrug. "Oh, come on. We're just going on a date, it's not like he has _proposed_ to me or anything."

"Beware, though," Malfoy coughs under his breath.

All three of us reward him with a deadly glare.

"Well, if you hurt her…" Albus starts threateningly, shifting his anger from Malfoy to the tanner boy.

He holds up his hands in defence. "I'm not going to, okay?"

"Are we finally done here with this overprotective, brotherly shit?" Malfoy interrupts unnecessarily.

"Nobody requested your company," Louis retorts, distaste painted all over his face.

"Nobody requested your opinion," Malfoy snipes, "and trust me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to talk to that redheaded nutcase."

"Whatever," Albus interferes, annoyed, "I'm off to Lunch. Are you coming with me, Louis?"

"Yeah, I am. Rose?" Louis holds out his hand invitingly.

"Are you deaf, Weasley?" Malfoy snarls. "I just told you I needed to talk to her. Heads business."

"Alright, but if you hurt –"

"Sod _off_, you idiot. Just because you'd be stupid enough to hex someone in the middle of the corridor with her own friends as witnesses, doesn't mean I would."

I roll my eyes. "Merlin, shut up, will you? Zabini, Albus, Louis, go on. I'll come down in a few minutes."

Reluctantly they obey. Zabini gives another kiss on my cheek, Albus and Louis hug me quickly. Then they speed off to the Great Hall – their stomachs have probably taken over their brains. I mean, that's usually how it goes with boys. Or pigs. Which basically is the same.

"What is it?" I turn around, and find Malfoy standing quite close to me.

He towers over me, and folds his arms. "We're not telling Stephano anything about what happened, understood?"

"Understood," I agree, shifting a bit due to our proximity, "but why would _you_ want to lie?"

He raises one eyebrow. "I have my reasons. And they're none of your business."

"Fine," I huff, still uneasy about his body being so close to mine without justification.

Merlin. He is such a prat! He is only doing this for the sole purpose of aggravating me.

The worst thing is that it's working.

"Anyway," he says, licking his masculine, yet well-shaped lips, "we have a meeting later this afternoon."

My eyes are glued to those lips.

Why the _bloody_ hell is he licking them?

It's distracting, frankly.

(And therefore, irritating. It's not supposed to be distracting. I mean, it's _never_ been distracting before.)

"Weasley?" He calls when I don't react.

I hurriedly take a step backwards and clear my throat. "Uh, yeah, alright. McGonagall's office?"

"Obviously," he answers, "three o'clock. Something about the organisation of an event. Not that I want you to, but be there. Otherwise I'll have to take the blame for not warning you."

"Sure," I respond, and start walking away. "See you there."

I hasten my tempo carefully, to not make it clear that I want to be out of here as soon as possible. I don't know what it is. I don't know. But what I do know, is that all of a sudden, Malfoy is beginning to get under my skin. And how he does it? I have no idea. There's nothing different. He hates me and the feeling is utterly mutual. We argue and we fight. We're the nails in each other's coffin.

_'But you dared him to kiss you, and he would have if it weren't for Lily,' _says a little voice in the back of my head.

Don't look around, Rose. Don't look around.

Before I pass the corner, I can't help it. I look around. He's still standing there, like a statue, unreadable expression, looking me right in the eye from a distance. He's tall and lean and undeniably handsome and this makes me want to tear my hair out.

I break into a run as soon as I disappear from his vision.

* * *

Until next time, my friends.


	10. Ten

* * *

Barcelona was energy draining. You can always check my livejournal for a review & photos of my journey (check my profile for the link.)

I'm sorry for the delay, but I really couldn't update any sooner. The faster we approach the end of the school year, the more work I get, so that's rather annoying.

**Disclaimer**: no infringement intended. JK Rowling owns.

**TEN**

"Ah, right on time I see," are the words Professor McGonagall welcomes us with, while rearranging some pieces of parchments on her desk. "Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley. Please take a seat."

Keeping my eyes straight on our well-respected, strict Headmistress, I oblige politely. By what my ears tell me, Malfoy has imitated my movements and is now sitting next to me. I restrain myself from stealing a glance from the corner of my eye, because I don't have to do so to know for sure what he is currently looking like.

Smeared in smugness. That's what.

"Good afternoon, Professor," I greet.

Malfoy repeats my words, but while they sound humble and courteous when I say it, he makes them come off like he is her equal. This angers me to no end, because this brave woman has been through more than the pale, obnoxious cad on my left could ever imagine.

But I suppose that in _his_ world he would be considered her equal.

Being that exceedingly rich and sophisticated and all.  


"You probably wonder what I called you in for," she speaks, with quite a cheery voice. "Well, we, myself and the rest of the school staff, have decided to do something refreshing and new this year. As you know, the War ended a little less than three decades ago. That's a long time. I'm sure you know this."

She holds up for a second, probably remembering that we – _especially_ we – are very aware of what she is telling us. I'm the product of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, participants and heroes extraordinaire. Malfoy is the heir of the notorious Pureblood bloodline, a family whose share in the War was more than dark.

So yeah. I think we know.

"Many people still hold the belief that Voldemort only fought for a 'purer' blood amongst the Wizarding world. You two being my brightest students and also undoubtedly very familiar with the facts, albeit a tad biased perhaps," did her gaze linger on Malfoy? "I assume that you're aware that Voldemort was simply a selfish, power-obsessed man, who was only a half-blood himself and above all, wanted complete control over everyone ."

"I'm aware," I declare, nodding.

Malfoy clears his throat. "So am I."

"Right," she folds her hands on her desk. "But, nonetheless, we _do_ want to celebrate what we achieved concerning the blood theory. There are still people out there, however a slim amount, who still consider Muggleborns inferior. To put emphasis on the fact that we no longer live in a society where this kind of behaviour is tolerated, we decided to organize an evening with a _Muggle_ theme."

"And that's where we come in, I suppose?" Malfoy asks.

"Indeed. The theme is up to you," she replies.

I cock my head slightly. "And the organization...?"

"As well," she finishes. "It is a great opportunity to show your creativity and ordering skills. It is also required that the Prefects aid, of course."

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Do you hear it coming? Do you see it? Do you sense it?

Because I do. I can feel those pitch-black clouds drifting their way over to above our heads, waiting for the ideal moment to release a huge thunderstorm on us. I mean, Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley organizing an event together? Yeah. Fireworks alert!

(And not the pretty ones. I'm talking about the ones that crash down and evoke horrible accidents.)

"We'll do our best, Professor," Malfoy promises courtly.

I swallow the sour taste on my tongue. "I'll be looking forward to it, Professor."

"Good," she smiles warmly. "I expect you in this office in approximately a month. I'll alert you."

I hear Malfoy's chair shoving backwards. I do the same, while smiling back at our Headmistress. As we both wish her a good afternoon, we leave the room. I walk behind Malfoy, and while feeling small in the shadow of his back, it occurs to me that I haven't looked at him once this meeting.

* * *

Saturday.  


It is beautiful outside. A typical autumn afternoon – average temperature, dim, orange sunlight, sprawled leaves, red, brown, green, yellow. And amidst this enchanting scenery, stands the also very enchanting figure of a tall Stephano Zabini. He is waiting for me with his hands in the pockets of his black pants, wearing instead of school robes a casual grey sweater made of cashmere, and his green Slytherin scarf.

"Hey Stephano," I smile as I approach him, dropping the family name.

"Rose," he says my name sensually, and leans in to give me a peck on the corner of my mouth, "you look nice."

"Thanks," I say modestly, "so do you."

In other days I would've replied that he didn't have to lie, but I _do_ look nice. A blue skirt, just above my knees, a pair of low brown boots, slightly healed, a feminine yet tough hooded sweater, and of course, my blue Ravenclaw scarf. For a change, I also tied my hair into a loose bun, a few strands framing my face.

"What would you like to do?" he asks while we start walking.

I shrug. "Doesn't matter much to me. What do you think of just hanging around in Hogsmeade?"

"Alright," he says, "I needed to retain my Nimbus 2025 from Dervish & Banges anyway."

Stephano Zabini is the essence of perfection, let me tell you. I mean, honestly, he's becoming more handsome every minute, he has a good brain, he's filthy rich, he doesn't hesitate to defend me in front of his lifelong best mate, and he's also the _captain_ and seeker for the Slytherin team.

Essentially perfect indeed.

"Didn't you have that one in the last game?"

He shakes his head. "Do you really think the Gryffindor team would've beaten us last time if I had?"

"Oh, _finally_," I punch him playfully on his arm, "I was beginning to wonder where you'd hidden that characteristic arrogance."

"Ouch, Rose," he puts a hand on his heart, "your words have wounded me deeply. I am now a broken man."

"A dramatic one, you mean," I correct, grinning.

He returns my playful punch. "That too. Hey, by the way, I heard from Scorpius that you have to organize a Muggle themed feast?"

My good mood evaporates in a fraction of a second. "Could you _please_ not remind me?"

"Why not?" He looks genuinely surprised. "I thought you'd like that kind of challenges."

"Shows how well you know me," I mutter viciously, and regret the words as soon as they fly out of my stupid mouth.

"That's not fair, Rose," Stephano reprimands in such a mature tone it makes me want to crawl under a rock in shame.

"I'm sorry," I offer feebly, "it just bugs me, you know? I don't _want_ to spend extra time with Malfoy. He's only going to _ruin_ it for me."

"That's not true. You're both inventive and smart people, I bet you'll figure it out," he says, trying to 

persuade me.

"_I_ am inventive and smart," I comment, loose-lipped, "Malfoy's just loathsome and cruel and miserable and pathetic."

"Come on, he has good points too," points out Stephano with an amused look on his face.

"Those _are_ his good points."

This time he laughs out loud, putting an arm around me in a light-hearted manner. I can't help but laugh with him, even though what I said was no joke at all. Chuckling, we arrive at Dervish & Banges. Stephano holds open the door for me to enter. As I pass the thought of Malfoy briefly floats through my mind.

I bet he'd never open doors for a girl like that.

* * *

Three hours and five shops later, Stephano and I enter the Three Broomsticks. Stephano immediately claims a table in the back, guides me with an arm shoved over my shoulders and then pulls out a chair for me. The boy has manners – that much is clear.

"Hey Stephano," I say softly, nodding towards the bargirl discretely, "that girl was eying you like a piece of meat when you came in."

He sits down himself and grins at me. "How flattering."

As expected, the bargirl disappears from her safe spot behind the counter and makes her way to our table – dark hair cascading down her back, her butt shaking with every step she takes. I give her a pitying look, embarrassed by the doings of my fellow female specimen. However, this antipathy isn't triggered 

by a feeling deep down my gut, is simply caused by a general dislike of a social problem.

Cheap bargirls hitting on young schoolboys on a date with another girl, that is.

I mean, that's just fundamentally incorrect.

Right?

"Can I take your orders, please?"

Cheap Bargirl's voice sounds thick with a Scottish accent and is layered with flirtation, seduction and invitation. My olfactory organ perceives a strong odour of thick perfume – you know, the kind of perfume you can still smell after the person in case has passed you by five minutes ago – and upon closer examination, my eyes detect a pseudo pretty face layered with make-up. That's quite an accurate way to describe this woman.

Thick and layered.

"Two Butterbeers, please," I snap unkindly, before Stephano gets the chance to speak.

Cheap Bargirl looks at me like hadn't even noticed my presence. She hastily scribbles down what I said, and then dismisses me immediately. She turns back to Stephano.

"If you need anything," _wink wink, smile smile_, "just call me!"

"We will," Stephano says complaisantly, though putting a light emphasis on the 'we'.

She sends one last lingering smile his way before she parades her way back to the place where she belongs – behind the bar. To my great peevishness I notice many pairs of eyes following the waving of her curved hips. To my great happiness, nonetheless, Stephano's eyes stay transfixed on me.  


"More Scorpius' type, you know," he explains needlessly. "Speaking of which – "

"Speaking of which?" I repeat, alarmed.

I see that Stephano isn't looking at me anymore, but at something behind my shoulder. His face lightens up and a broad grin spreads across his cheeks. "Good afternoon, mate."

Horror-struck, I snap my head around and register the persona of Scorpius Malfoy. I register it because I recognise his sophisticated and manly and probably very pricy cologne. I register it because the first thing I see is a black polo T-shirt with the signature of an exceedingly expensive brand on the chest. I register it because in a way I just _do_.

"Hey Stephano," very much Malfoy indeed, "hey, uh, Weasley."

He speaks my name with clear contempt.

Which makes me grunt in reply.

"So, what's up? Who're you here with?" Stephano asks while Malfoy just keeps on standing behind my chair.

I don't need to turn around again to know that he's smirking. "Do you see that girl in over there?" Stephano cocks his head to the left. "Yeah, the blonde one. She's bugging me though. Never met anyone more annoying, except for maybe, well, ..."

"Ha, ha," I look upwards to face him now, "extremely funny, Malfoy."

"No need for sarcasm where none is due, Weasley," he bites out, looking downwards, "it's wasn't a joke."  


"Will you both please quit it?" Stephano frowns deeply, disturbed. "Scorpius, what did you come for?"

"Oh, right, I was just going to tell you that – "

"Two Butterbeers," interrupts the aforementioned layered voice of Cheap Bargirl.

I turn my head. She is looking from Malfoy to Stephano and then back to Malfoy with a hungry look sparkling in her dark eyes. Stephano just takes both the drinks from her with a small smile, but Malfoy instantly starts grinning like a madman.

"Good afternoon," he says suavely, annoying me greatly.

"Oh, hello," the girl replies, almost swooning, "how are you?"

My eyes hit the ceiling.

Stephano notices and presses a hand in front of his mouth to silence his laughter.

"I'm fine, especially now," Malfoy has now turned his back to me completely and is facing the Cheap Bargirl with a very close distance.

This is more than irritating. This is _beyond_ irritating. This is a-mosquito-flying-next-to-your-ear-the-whole-time-when-you're-trying-to-study-for-your-NEWTS-irritating. Can't he go and demonstrate his honey-dripping flirting techniques elsewhere? I mean, Merlin. We know you're able to charm almost every girl in a matter of seconds, Malfoy. Can you _please_ leave us alone now?

"The same goes for me," the girl giggles, batting her eyelashes so hard I can almost _hear_ it.

"Excuse me," I butt in, in a tone that makes clear that I'm everything but sorry, "could you please 

continue your conversation somewhere else?" Then, for the extra effect, I add: "Stephano and I were just having a wonderful, _private_ conversation, so..."

Cheap Bargirl awards me with a murdering gaze and Malfoy sneers. "Actually, I'm fine where I am now."

"Scorpius," Stephano sounds like professor reprimanding a student, "she's right. I'll see you later, okay?"

Cheap Bargirl, getting the message, huffs and turns her heal. I sigh in relief as her face is out of my vision. There's only so much of make-up and Scottish accents I can handle.

"No, wait, I came here for a reason," Malfoy holds up his two hands, "I came to ask you if you wanted to come to Club Enchanted tonight? I _really_ need to ditch my date."

Have I mentioned yet what kind of a cad he is towards his girls?

"Well, I'd love to, but only with the company of Rose here," Stephano responds.

"No, no!" I sputter immediately, not finding this a good idea. "You can go alone if you want!"

Malfoy and Stephano both look at me strangely. As on a cue, they synchronically ask: "Why wouldn't you want to go to _Club Enchanted_?"

Because I'd sure as hell get drunk on your account and then I'd certainly do stupid things. Because all the girls would flock around you like sheep, and I'd be vexed about this. Because all those girls wouldn't stand a chance against me when it comes to Stephano, and it would still vex me, because Malfoy would just take them all. Because maybe I'd be dancing with my apparent boyfriend and I'd understand exactly _why_ every girl flocks around his _best mate_.

But I can't say that out loud of course.

"I don't feel like it," I defend myself very weakly.

"Oh, come on, Rose!" Stephano objects. "I'm sure Scorpius won't make a problem out of it."

"Not that I care about that anyway," I murmur under my breath.

"Do never take things for granted," Malfoy murmurs under his breath.

Stephano grants Malfoy a glare, and repeats sternly, "Scorpius doesn't have a problem with it."

"Alright," I spat Malfoy's way, to spite him, "I'll come. Even if it's just to pester _him_."

"I'm honoured," Malfoy grimaces. Then he shakes hands with Stephano the way real boys do, and dismisses me like Cheap Bargirl did before. After that he takes off, leaving a smirking Stephano and an almost-vomiting me behind.

"Now," Stephano leans towards me, waiting until Malfoy is seated next to his date, "why do you actually hate him so much?"

"You mean besides the fact that he's such an asshole to me all the time?" I ask sarcastically.

He shakes his head. "You've always been a bitch to him as well, as far as I remember. I'm just wondering whether something triggered this or anything."

Oh, yes, Stephano. _Something_ triggered it indeed.

His stupid face is bloody likely.

"Yeah, something happened," I answer truthfully, "when I first saw him. He said some things that made 

me hate him instantly."

"Tell me," Stephano inquires, sincerely interested.

"Well," I take a breath, "it was on the Hogwarts Express, first year. My dad had just obliged me to outdo Malfoy in everything I did, as an old grudge towards Draco Malfoy, you know."

I think back about that moment. I'd been excited out of my wits, eleven years old and delighted to finally attend the school I'd been hearing everything about. The first people I happened to spot were the Malfoys, without really knowing who or what they were. The father was a tall man – sharp, white, glowing – and the woman was awfully beautiful, a member of the Greengrass family as I learned later. I hadn't noticed Scorpius until my dad pointed him out to me and said what he said. I remember looking at him, angelic features distorted into a sneer, apparently whining to his mother about something.

"I was looking for a free seat," I continue, "when I suddenly caught my name. I came to a halt to see who was talking about me, 'cause I didn't recognise the snobby voice. It was Malfoy, and he was talking to you."

Stephano nods comprehensively.

"Of course I started eavesdropping on you. Maybe you remember what he said, maybe you don't, but sure as hell do. It's imprinted in my system, to be honest."

"I don't remember," Stephano admits reluctantly.

"I'll quote him literally: "Did you see that redhead, the Weasley girl? Have you ever seen anyone more funny-looking?" When you told him you hadn't seen me, he went on: "Her hair was like fire, you know? And her skin had all these ugly freckles over it. And oh, she was already in her school robes. I mean, what a _dork_!""

That was a horrible moment. Imagine standing there and being talked about that way on your first day, when you're full of insecurities. It stung. It cut. It stuck.

It bloody fucking ached.

"And then I got sick of listening to my own faults and I walked into the compartment," I explain.

Stephano looks up. "Yeah, I remember that. You called him every name in the dictionary; you insulted him, you went all crazy. And he stayed calm, didn't he?"

"Yeah," I confirm, "he was so calm. He was looking at me like I was nuts, you know? And he kept on doing that. He still does it. Like I'm _beneath_ him."

"I'm sorry," Stephano says, "I know. But you're not. If anything, you're _above_ him."

"Thanks," I smile warmly.

Essentially perfect indeed.

* * *

Aargh, this chapter SUCKS. I am elsewhere with my head, that much is clear. Hopefully I don't disappoint you too much, but I didn't want to rewrite the entire thing. That would mean extra time, and it's been long enough as it is.


	11. Eleven

First of all, before I forget, for everyone who volunteered for the Beta function, I already got a friend doing it for me. But thanks anyway!

Before you read this chapter, please note that Rose is neither a slut nor an alcoholic. I realize I make it seem like that with the drunken detention, but hey! Scorpius and Rose are doomed otherwise, with their stubbornness and all.

**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns.

**ELEVEN**

Let me tell you about Club Enchanted.

It is a relatively new club, opened more or less twenty years after the Final Battle. Albus, Louis and I were second years, and of course the world of partying was something far, far away for us. But Club Enchanted was hot topic amongst the older students, and we used to walk through the woods in the evening, fantasizing about the future where we'd do the same things all these cool students did. We were twelve and full of characteristic naiveté, wanting grow up instantly and therefore receive the same privileges older people got.

It's quite ironic how you can be so eager to lose your childhood while you're stuck in it, and then desire it back when you're finally out of it.

We went for the first time in fourth year, on Albus' initiative. We snuck out of our beds on a Saturday night, charming them to feign our presence, We walked all the way to Hogsmeade, where we used a Portkey to get to Diagon Alley. We entered the place with charmed ID's. It was the first time in my life I've gotten so plastered that I couldn't walk straight. Louis and Albus weren't much better. We nearly _crawled_ back home.

The picture I'm trying to paint here, is that going out in Club Enchanted, is _bound_ to go wrong.

Which is the reason why I am currently regretting my decision.

"Come on, Rose," Stephano is standing in front of me with his hand stretched, "we ought to get in line. "

I arouse from my daze. "Oh, what?"

"In _line_?" snorts the King Prick in his most obnoxious manner. "Have you gone mental? Do you _see_ all these people?"

"No, no," I pipe up, "these two eyeballs in our faces are just for decoration, aren't they, Stephano?"

King Prick rolls his eyes, being the drama queen he is. "Do I look like I'm talking to you?"

"Hmm," I sigh deeply, rubbing my temples as if I'm contemplating his suggestion for real, and then widen my eyes in feigned realization. "Oh! That's right! I don't care! At all!"

"Let's keep it peaceful, shall we?" Stephano intervenes carefully, turning his face from one to the other.

"Sure," Malfoy coughs ostentatiously, "but seriously now. I'm not doing this queue."

"Why not? Afraid of catching a cold? Are you too _fragile_, Malfoy?" I ask innocently.

Malfoy opens his mouth to retaliate, but Stephano is first. He steps in between the two of us and gives us The Evil Eye. "Children, I want you both to shut up this instant!"

I return The Evil Eye.

I kind of would've liked to hear Malfoy's undoubtedly conceited response.

"Whatever, you sound like my bloody _mother_," the albino looks quite disgusted (and –ing, for that matter) while he tells his best mate this. "I'm off. Bribing that security man into letting me in. I don't care what you are going to do, but..."

I open my mouth, but Stephano being in the cutting off mood he is in today, is ahead of me. "We're going with you."

Before I can protest he grabs my arm and drags me towards Malfoy and his nasty politics.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Malfoy has disappeared, and Stephano and I are already seated at a table surrounded with easy chairs. It is on a podium, which causes the music to be less loud over here. In front of us stands our fair share of cocktails. I haven't forgotten my bad experience from last week, but in a club like this one, you ought to _not_ be sober.

You might just witness scenes that scar you for life.

Trust me, I know.

"So, what do you think?" Stephano shoves his chair closer to mine and lays a hand on my arm.

"I think we're going to have a good time," I smile, raising my glass.

He understands the message and bumps his cocktail against mine. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" I repeat, and shower my throat with the tasty liquid.

"So," says Stephano after he's done the same, "do you go out very often?"

"Depends," I reply, "I don't go out often during the school year, but in the Summers I do."

Stephano smiles his Charming Smile. "I never pegged you as the partying type – no offence."

"None taken. I'm not, not really. I'm Head Girl, and as opposite to Malfoy I deserve that title," I laugh a little, putting my empty glass on the table and replacing it with a filled one.

Stephano follows my motion, apparently not wanting to waste this evening with a clear head either.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I ask, bumping my glass against his for the second time. "Cheers."

"Cheers. Sure."

"What," _gulp_, "do you," _gulp_, "like," _gulp_, "about Malfoy?" _gulp_.

He blinks. "I wasn't expecting _that_." He thinks for a second. "We've known each other since we were three or something. We grew up together. We understood each other – we still do. I don't mean to sound gay or anything, but there's this bond between us, formed in our childhood, that nothing insignificant – like distance or a girl – will ever be able to break. And I know Scorpius can be a total cad, but he's also funny and intelligent."

I simply snort.

"You know," the tanned wizard speaks up, with an unreadable expression, "you talk about him an awful lot for the way you claim to hate him."

My eyes widen involuntarily and it seems as if my heart has stilled against my ribcage.

"What are you implying?"

I don't even have to fake the surprise in my voice.

He locks eyes with me. "Nothing."

This time I read suspicion.

I down my glass.

* * *

"Shit!"

Stephano and I look up from our more than fascinating conversation and encounter a frantic Malfoy. We both shoot him questioning looks as he slouches down in the easy chair on our opposite and pours an entire cocktail down his throat at once.

"What's the problem?" Stephano asks diplomatically.

Malfoy gives an exasperated sigh. "My _date_ is here. You know, the blonde one from earlier?"  


Unable to hold in my upcoming laughter, I shake my head. "That's karma for you."

"This isn't a funny matter, Weasley!" Malfoy exclaims, glaring at me.

"Well," I giggle, "I beg to dif –"

"Shit, shit, _shit_! She's coming this way," Malfoy interrupts me in all his terror, "hide me or something!"

"Sneak under the table," Stephano suggests, raising an eyebrow, indicating that he couldn't care less.

Malfoy increases his glare tenfold. "A little empathy is in order here!"

"Wow, she really _is_ coming our way," I add superfluously.

Which is not a lie, by the way.

Currently she is zigzagging her wiggling ass (inspired by Cheap Bargirl, I bet) through the massive crowd near the Bar. She is obviously looking for something or someone, and if my blurred thoughts are correct, she is looking for the one person that doesn't want to be looked for.

I grin in sardonic satisfaction as I fantasize about the possible situations that could unfold here.

_Muhahaha_.

"Come on, Weasley!"

I frown, snap my head up, and suddenly find myself pulled along, out of my chair. I look to my left for Stephano, but notice that he's not there anymore. Flabbergasted, I turn my vision back to my potential rapist and see it's only Malfoy.

Wait.

Malfoy?  


Why is Malfoy pulling me out of my chair in so prehistorically?

"We're going dancing," Malfoy mumbles next to my ear, pressing my side to his with the force of his arm around my shoulder, "Stephano is going to distract Elizabeth."

"Oh, she has a name now?" I utter back, not quite cloudless.

Malfoy and I descend the stairs, while he still holds me in an effort to not lose me in the stuffed crowd. I catch a whiff of his perfume and close my eyes in pleasure. Mental note: let Stephano buy the same perfume Malfoy has. It's fresh. It's masculine. It's alive. It's -

"Malfoy?" I speak up dazedly. "Are we really going dancing?"

He looks down on me – why is he so damn tall? - from the corner of his eye and nods. "Yeah, maybe then she'll get the message."

"But," my brows push together, "can't you ask another girl? Doesn't Stephano mind? I mean –"

"Must you always talk so much?" Malfoy asks, and then quickly as an afterthought: "That was a rhetorical question."

He comes to a standstill in the centre of the dance floor, glancing from left to right. He lets go of my shoulder and instead stands in front of me. I look around too, and probably come to the same conclusion as Malfoy.

'Elizabeth' is nowhere to be seen.

Apparently Stephano is doing a good job.

Which is only normal, since Stephano is very, very charming. And handsome. And nice. And intelligent.

And so on.

"Want anything to drink, Weasley?" Malfoy asks rather civilized.

I gape at him. "Am I going bonkers? Did you just _really_ ask me if I wanted something to drink?"  


"Get over it," he replies, smirking, "I'll get you another cocktail."

"But I'm already drunk!" I sputter.

"The drunker, the better," he winks, and in a flash he is gone.

Baffled, I close my mouth. This is _so_ typical. Leave it up to Malfoy to carry his best mate to the club with him because he wants to lose his date, protesting to let his best mate's girlfriend come along, then let his best mate distract the date who seemed to have showed up too, and _then_ drag his best mate's girlfriend down to the dance floor to give the date the message.

Yeah.

Oh, did I mention that he almost snogged his best mate's girlfriend and then threw a fit about it because he didn't know it was his _best mate's_ girlfriend?

It also doesn't help that I still can't figure out why he is gorgeous past all belief while he must be the prickiest prick of them all.

Scorpius Malfoy is a jigsaw puzzle. And not one of the fun kind.

"You're looking sort of lost."

I look at the object of my hatred, who's handing out a cocktail to me while sipping from another one himself. I eye him challengingly at take the cocktail. After swallowing the biggest part, I put a finger on his chest.

It appears to me that I'm intoxicated.

It also appears to me that Malfoy is probably intoxicated as well.

"I'm not lost," I lie, "in fact, I feel _completely_ in place."

He leans over, and breathes in my neck: "Prove it, then."

"We might as well dance now we're here," I comment.

Malfoy gulps down his cocktail too. "You're my best mate's girlfriend. And I hate you."

"So...?" I cock an eyebrow, holding out my hand.

He stares at it with a strange glint in his eyes. "It might give the wrong impression. And I'm drunk. Alcohol is dangerous."

"We get along just fine when we're drunk," I chuckle, not retrieving my hand.

Eventually he takes it, and the hairs in my neck rise when his minty inhalation tickles the skin of my cheek. "That's the problem, _Rose_."

My mind is screaming to run away. It is kicking and thwarting and hurting and screeching at me to leave this dance floor with this alarmingly insufferable and attractive blond boy.

I start moving my hips and block it out.

* * *

I couldn't say how much time has passed.

The only thing I know, or that rings through me, is the rhythm. I twirl, I sway, I pause, I glide – I dance. And Malfoy twirls and sways and pauses and glides with me. Feeling the beat pumping through my veins, I let myself go. My head is a blur and I love it. I don't think of housework. I don't think of expectations. I don't think of my Head Girl badge and therefore good behaviour. I don't think of Albus and Louis and what they'd say. I don't think of Lily and her squeals. I don't think of my parents. I don't think of my duties. I don't think of the upcoming party. I don't think of Stephano.

I swirl around, let Malfoy guide me.

There is no distance between us and I don't think about this. I don't think about the fact that I don't like this young man. I don't think about how he's nasty and arrogant and vicious and mean. I don't think about our past. I don't think about our future. The thing I think about is the beat that is pulsing through my body as well as his and that we can feel it pulsing together.

"You're a good dancer, Weasley," he gasps against my shoulder, "who would've thought?"

The coloured flashing lights slide over his perfect, aristocratic face. His eyes are closed and he is breathing hard. I gaze at his lips and realize I gaze at them way too much, but I don't bother to look away. I feel his fingers crawling up my back. From my hips, up my back, to my neck. He pulls me closer – out of breath, instilled with tension.

"Why do we get along so fine when we're drunk?" I manage to bring out in between puffs.

The tempo speeds up.

"We don't _think_, then," Malfoy points out, hitting the nail right on the head.

I feel his defined muscles pressing against my own soft chest. "Do you sense the tension, Malfoy, or is that just me?"

"I'm afraid not," he mutters, alarmingly close to my mouth, not stopping his movements for one second.

We dance synchronically. Our coordination is perfectly similar. We're tuned as one. And I don't think about this. I'm only thinking about his mouth now. It's close and it comes closer. His hands leave an imprint on my burning skin. His fingertips travel their way around my arms and wrists and then -

A jolt of electricity shudders through me when our fingers entwine.

"I want to finish our dare, Weasley," he groans, almost painfully, "but you're my best mate's girlfriend."

I know this should be like a bucket of ice water splashing over me.

But it isn't.

The only thing I register is that I share his sentiment.

"Where is he?" I ask in the same tone.

Malfoy looks around the crowd. "I don't see him anywhere. We must've dancing for an hour at least now."

"Time sure flies when you're having a good time."

"I want to kiss you," Malfoy repeats, and I'm not sure if he even heard me, "I want to kiss you senseless."

We stare at each other.

We see the traces of conflict in the other's eyes. It is so clear in his that I can't imagine it not being obvious in mine. I draw in a breath, deep in contemplation.

I _want_ him to kiss me.

I _want_ him to kiss me senseless.

But is it worth it? Is it worth hurting Stephano over?

"Maybe we go and look for him," I force myself to formulate, swallowing every emotion, "we can't do this to him."

Malfoy slowly stops moving and puts his hands in his beautiful hair. He looks deeply troubled – which is understandable. "You're absolutely right," he sighs after a while, "you're right. Let's go. Let's go and forget all about what I said. And what you said yourself."

Something is twisting in my gut, but I ignore it. "Alright."

When we leave from the dance floor, he doesn't put his arm around my shoulder.

* * *

We find Stephano after thirty minutes, and you really don't want to know where.

In a toilet stall.

_With a girl._

_Hah_! I got you there, didn't I?

He truly is in the restroom with a girl. Only the girl is called Elizabeth, a.k.a. Malfoy's date, and she is currently hugging the toilet. Stephano, being the gentleman he is, has stayed with her out of worry.

Yeah.

And I was dancing with his best mate at that time.

Give Rose Weasley a prize.

"You're _way_ too nice," comments Malfoy after Stephano has explained the whole ordeal.

I put a hand on his shoulder, feeling guilt-ridden about my last performance on the dance floor. "Is she alright?"

Elizabeth herself manages to stand up with wobbling knees, using the wall and Stephano's other shoulder as support. "I'm okay, I think." Then she seems to notice Malfoy and she frowns. "Oh, fancy seeing you here."

Stephano and I exchange meaningful looks.

"Eh, yes. Hello," Malfoy mutters, offering her his arm.

"Let's get out of here," Stephano says smartly, looking completely sobered, "I'm fed up with this place."

I'd be quite fed up too if I'd resided in the restroom the whole time too.

But whatever.

"Okay," Malfoy, Elizabeth and I respond synchronically.

* * *

TENSION, anyone? Review!


	12. Twelve

Thanks for the nice reviews, everyone.

I have a small request, though. Stop favouriting this story without reviewing. It's bothersome. Ask any author on this site – they'll confirm.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns.

**TWELVE****  
**  
I wake up with an unfortunate, familiar throbbing in the back of my head. This time I don't need several minutes to figure out what I've been up to. It hits me straight away that I've gotten drunk – _again_ – on Malfoy's account – _again_ – and nearly let him kiss me – _again_.

A never-ending circle, if you may.

I groan in misery as I let myself fall backwards again.

This is becoming a pattern. Snogging-Malfoy-but-not-really is becoming a _pattern_. And since it is the pattern of a rather large number of girls, _I'm_ becoming one of the hundreds.

Yeah.

Great.

What's scares me most, however, is that I would've cheated on my boyfriend if that boyfriend hadn't been Malfoy's best friend. I mean, sure, we didn't exactly make out. Sure, I stopped him right on time. But what if Malfoy hadn't listened and had just gone ahead? Would I have mustered up the strength to pull away then?

I don't think so.

Hopefully he's a bad kisser. In case we ever _do_ end up in a lip-locked position, there _might_ be a chance for me to get out of the mess before it gets even messier. A bad kisser is never attractive. Consequently that would mean 

Malfoy wouldn't be attractive anymore.

I sigh deeply.

This is beginning to sound ridiculous, even to my own ears.

From all the stories I had to hear out, none of them were complaints about Malfoy's kissing techniques. In fact, they were rather, uh, positive. Some general reviews:

Violetta Chang: "Oh _Merlin_, Rose, you wouldn't believe the way he makes me _melt_ with that tongue of his..."

Mary Corner: "And then he went, like, he _kissed_ me! I thought I was going to _die_!"

Rosalind Burrow: "Oh, dear _Merlin_. I now _officially_ crown Scorpius Malfoy as _the_ best kisser in the entire school!"

(And yes. She has evidence.)

(... very cheap, that Rosalind.)

Alice Carmichael: "He was as good as Albus Potter. And trust me, _that's_ saying something."

Sarah Clearwater: "I fainted. Inwardly, of course."

See?

Hopeless.

Absolutely bloody _hopeless_.

* * *

"You know, Rose," Lily says, while stuffing a piece of bacon in her mouth, "I have a feeling there's something you're not telling me."  


I take a sip from my morning coffee and arch an eyebrow. "It's too early for this, Lily."

"I'm serious," she shakes her head in a carping manner, "you haven't told me _anything_ about your date."

"What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?" I demand, annoyed at the fact that she's right, and that there'll probably be a moment where I'll have to spill everything I've been bottling up for the past twenty-four hours.

"As a matter of fact," she smirks with voluminous cheeks, "consider it just _that_. My ears are open!"

I roll my eyes. "There's nothing to tell, really..."

"Sure, Rose. _Sure_. Let's say I believe you – hypothetically of course, because I _don't_ – then why won't you just give me a general overview? You've been avoiding the subject like the plague," she notes, giving me a knowing smile.

I take a bite from my bagel and chew as long as possible. In the meantime I keep staring at one specific mole in the crook of Lily's neck, to refrain my eyes from trailing over to the Slytherin table. I've been successfully evading both Malfoy and Stephano, and I intend to keep it that way. We wouldn't want any awkward situations to occur, now would we?

"Are you going to tell me anytime soon? Or do I have to wait until my fiftieth birthday first?" Lily asks like the persuasive daughter of Ginny Potter she is.

"What do you think of fifty-five?"

"Rose. I'm serious here," she scowls, "I'm _dying_ of curiosity."

I hold my hands up in the air. "Alright, _alright_."

"So," Lily neatly places her hands under her chin and leans towards me. "Shoot."

"WellitwasverynicewithStephanofirstbutthenwewenttoClubEnchantedandIdancedwithMalfoyandwealmostkissedbutintheendwedidn't," I spit out in one breath.

Lily looks at me like I've grown a third eye. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, I _totally_ got it. _Everything's_ clear now. "

"Alright," I inhale heavily, "so the date with Stephano went great, but in the evening we –"

"Speaking of which," Lily interrupts swiftly, "Stephano is looking kind of... upset right now."

This time I can't resist. For the first time this morning I tilt my head a bit to the side and notice that my cousin is absolutely right. The scenery I'm looking at isn't a pleasant one. Stephano is reading the Daily Prophet with the sourest expression I have ever seen gracing his features. His hair doesn't look combed, and his face seems tired.

"You're right," I gulp down the worrying taste on my tongue.

Then Lily voices my real thoughts. "Malfoy's isn't there either..."

"No idea where he is," I mumble, trying to sound as uninterested as humanly possible.

"Probably off shagging Violetta or something," she comments lightly.

Ignoring the twist in my ribcage, I shrug. "Maybe Stephano and him had a fight or something."

"If anyone would know, you would," Lily looks at me expectably.

I shrug again, this time more pronounced. "No idea."

"Whatever," she disregards the subject. "So, you were saying..."

"So, I was saying..."

I tell her what happened, leaving out a few details.

In fact, I don't mention Malfoy _at all_.

* * *

All in all I could state that I had a successful day.

I exclusively had classes with the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. I managed to ignore my boyfriend and my boyfriend's best friend a.k.a. King Prick for the entire day, just like I did yesterday. I know that it's not very nice of me to avoid Stephano, but there's this uncomfortable feeling in my gut every time I think I see his posture. Every time he enters my vision, something stabs deep inside of me.

Guilt.

Because when I see him walking alone, I wonder where his blond counterpart is located. Because when I hear him speaking, I think about how I like his voice, how I like his voice because it's sounds so much less conceited than the albino's typical drawl. Because when I look at his expensive clothes, they remind me of the sophisticated cashmere sweaters and fancy shirts King Prick permanently sports. Because when I think of Stephano, I think of Malfoy, and I don't _want_ to think about Malfoy.

I mean, I'm not in _love_ with the boy, for crying out loud. If you're in love with someone, you write their name everywhere on your notebooks. You start idolising them, washing away their faults in your head, mistaking them to be perfect.

I never do any of those things with Malfoy.

I've hated him before, I hate him now, and I'll probably always keep doing so.

But has it suddenly become so hard to _not_ think about his lips?

"You're not reading."

Speaking of the devil.

"I am," I object, looking up from my book against my better judgement.

Malfoy is standing in front of the fireplace in our common room. He is staring at me with a neutral face – save for the questioning eyebrow – and with his two arms crossed. I smell his cologne instantly. In a flash I'm brought 

back to the last time I was with him; pressed against him; inhaling his scent; painfully aware of his existence.

I shut my eyelids, count to three, and reopen them.

"You weren't," he says, knowing perfectly well that I know it too, "your eyes weren't moving."

"I didn't realize I was under supervision," I answer drily, closing the book.

He snorts. "Like I'd ever supervise _you_."

Oh, no, surely not.

You only like to _snog_ me.

"Let's spare ourselves the inept nightmares, shall we?" I snap, trying to keep the bitterness inaudible.

He doesn't move from his spot. "Right. Luckily the only reason I'm here is to alert you that we have a meeting later this week, concerning the themed feast. I'll inform you later."

"Sure," I respond calmly, averting my eyes from his pretty face.

I still hear no change in movements from his part when he utters another: "Right."

Simply because the urge is stronger than my mind, I look back at him and catch him looking at me through squinted eyes, as if waiting for me to say something more. There are heaps of things I'd want to tell him, but instead I break the eye-contact immediately. There's only so much of glowing grey I can bear.

He clears his throat uneasily. "Uh, not that it's any of your business, but I'm off then."

"Bye," I say, just as uneasily.

He slowly turns his back to leave to whatever place he's going to, and I find myself tapping with my fingers and feet nervously, anxiously watching in slow motion how he opens the door and takes a step outside -  


"Hey, Malfoy, wait!"

I curse myself inwardly.

He throws me a curious glance. "What?"

"Uh, what are you doing tonight?" I ask, realizing that I really am interested in this.

"Why should I tell you?" He frowns. "And why would you want to know?"

Yeah, why would I?

Think fast, Rose. Fast and efficient.

Why in the world would Rose Weasley want to know how Scorpius Malfoy is going to spend his evening?

_Ding ding_! Million dollar question!

"I don't care," I spat hurriedly, making up a zillion excuses in my mind. "It's just that, you can have the common room if you like, I mean, you know, I think I'm going to the Ravenclaw common room anyway, so uh, you can always –"

"I get it," Malfoy says quickly, sensing my discomfort, "I'll use it."

I half-smile at him.

He doesn't smile back.

"Bye then," I sputter, lowering my head.

"Bye," he mumbles back, but just before the closes with a bang, I hear a 'thanks' following.

* * *

As I'm walking to the Ravenclaw common room to get my mind off things – yes, _things_ – a voice calls out to me.

"Rose! Wait up!"

I freeze immediately as I recognise the richness of it.

"Oh, hey Stephano," I turn around with a smile as forced as the cooperation between Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy so many years ago. "How are you?"

"I've been better," he replies nonchalantly.

As he starts walking next to me, I catch myself keeping somewhat of a distance. "How come?"

"Oh, I don't know," he sounds a little bitter, and I'm afraid of what he's going to say next. "My parents want to divorce, my sister is marrying world's biggest asshole," he pauses for a second, probably to let it sink in, "Scorpius and I are in the middle of a dispute, and," he suddenly stands still and gives me a scanning look, "_you're_ avoiding me."

"_What_?" I manage to feign the surprise in my voice quite well, since all the former things he told me _were_ quite startling. "Why would you think that?"

"Because it's true?" he suggest on a tone telling me there's no space for lies.

But space can always be created, right?

"Honestly, Stephano," I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder because I've got no idea what else to do, "I swear I haven't been avoiding you. I've just been busy, that's all."

He sighs. "Alright then. Where are you going anyway?"

"The Ravenclaw common room, but I didn't tell anyone, so I'm actually free if you like."

I wasn't planning on proposing to spend some time together, but it is a mix between guilt and pity and shame and interest that makes me do so. I mean, the poor boy looks like he could use some friendship. Or love. Or affection. Or whatever.

His face visibly brightens. "Oh, yeah. Let's go for a walk outside."

"Okay," I nod, "but wait here for me, I'm going to get my jacket first."

* * *

The weather is nice outside. A balmy breeze ruffles through the falling leave sof the trees. Day has already transformed into a clear night. Stars begin to show. The moon brings a glow to the nature surrounding us. It reminds me of the times when Albus, Louis and I would reside at the Burrow during weekends. We used to wait until we were sure grandma and grandpa had fallen asleep, and then we crept out of the window with our brooms tied to our backs. Making ourselves as nondescript as possible - we didn't have the magical ability to charm ourselves invisible back then - we tiptoed out of the garden, further into the woods. There we played Quiddich for hours. Except for Louis, none of us liked Quiddich that exceptionally much, but we did it for the thrill, the alliance, the excitement. When we got older and wiser, we realized that it simply was a feebly attempt to follow our parents' footsteps. We quit the Quiddich habit after that, but we still sneak out sometimes, just for the sake of tradition. Then we laugh or just talk, because those woods are symbolic for our Holy Trinity and because it instills a certain calmness.

"You're quiet," Stephano's voice booms through my train of thought, "what' s on your mind?"

I smile slightly. "Childhood memories. Albus and Louis."

"Those blokes you always hang out with?" Stephano asks.

I nod. "Yeah. My cousins and best friends. Speaking which, why are you fighting with Malfoy?"

"You, actually," he replies matter-of-factly, confirming my fears.

I have the art of widened eyes and O'd mouths down to perfection. "Me?"

"Well, yeah," he shrugs. "I can't stand it that he talks so badly about you, while I've always had the feeling that he has this kind of… weakness for you."

"Weakness?" I manage to keep the interest out of my tone, even though it definitely is peaked.

"I don't know. My masculine intuition, if you will," he chuckles.

I shake my head, laugh at him. "There is no such thing as masculine intuition, my dear."

"I'm serious," he says, "I always used to pester him about it when we were young. He never found it funny, though. I once said something about it in his father's presence and he refused to talk to me for a week after that."

"What can I say? The Malfoys were never particularly fond of the Weasleys," I answer thoughtfully.

"Mr. Malfoy never says much about it, actually," Stephano tells me, "I think he's a different man from what he used to be. Cold as ice, you know, but not as spiteful as before. Astoria must've had a good influence on him."

"Malfoy's mum?" I inquire needlessly, because I already know.

I've seen Astoria Malfoy a few times. A beautiful woman – dark-haired, slender, full of the effortless grace the Malfoys are famous for – and indeed, she seemed nice. At first I thought her to look a little frosty, but then she smiled and that smile lit up her entire face.

"Yeah, I love her," Stephano comments, "she treats me like her own son."

I put a hand on his arm. "I would too if Scorpius Malfoy was my own son. You're so nice and fun, and he's – well, he's not."

He comes to a standstill when we arrive at a bench. "Thanks, Rose. Would you like a seat?"

He offers his arm like the gentleman he is and I take it, beaming. "Of course I'd like a seat!"

We sit down in one fluid movement, and when he puts a protective arm around me, I wonder why in Merlin's name I would even think of thinking of kissing Malfoy. I mean, here I am, embraced by the politest, coolest, almost most handsome wizard of the school. Could I be any luckier?

_Could I_?

"Rose," he whispers in my ear, "can I kiss you?"

"Uhm, sure," I respond, a tad uncomfortable, almost smacking myself for giving such a stupid answer.

But where is that racing pulse? The deafening pounding in my chest? The tension so thick you almost have to _swim_ through it?

_Where_?

Stephano leans over and presses his lips against mine. His kiss is soft, inviting, undemanding, and I go along with it. He adds a slight pressure and I follow him.

I like it.

I mean, it's kind of a hassle that the wheels in my head won't stop turning and all that, but it's a nice kiss. Nice and friendly. I don't know how else to put it.

Nice and friendly.

He pulls away after a few second and looks into my eyes. His eyes are dark and deep and beautiful, but they're not haunting, and I find myself able to stare back at him without wanting to stab a knife in my stomach to kill the fluttering. He opens his mouth to say something, when I realize -

I'm not in love with him.

Not really.

"We should head back," I speak up before he can, "I'm really tired."

I try to ignore the disappointment sprawled over his face.  


* * *

"I had a great time tonight," Stephano says when we arrive at the door of the Heads room.

I smile sweetly at him. "Thanks. Me too."

He gives me a peck on my lips in reply and turns around. Before he walks around the corner, he grants me a little goodbye wave.

"Nice lad, isn't he?" One of the ladies on the painting comments. "And handsome too!"

I laugh. "Yeah, he is. Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, please."

"Oh, but are you sure you want to go in?" The other lady looks at me worriedly. "The other blond boy went inside with a girl, just an hour ago or so."

I feel nausea coming up.

"Yes, and?" I reply, frowning and a little grumpier than I should.

The lady shrugs. "Fine then."

The door opens swiftly. I step through the doorway and -

something resembling a thousand needles perforates my abdomen.

Because currently, I'm exposed to the sweaty, writhing, panting, and above all naked bodies of Scorpius Malfoy and Violetta Chang, lying in the easy chair in the middle of our common room.

* * *

Cheer me up, people. Review and cheer me up. I need it. Give it your BEST shot and CHEER-ME-UP. Thanks!


	13. Thirteen

You guys definitely cheered me up.

**Disclaimer**: not mine. Alas.

**THIRTEEN **

I clear my throat, loudly.

"You're the one paying for the recovery of my mental health."

Two flushed faces snap up from the rather unappetizing activity they were so enthusiastically engaged in. The first thing our beloved raven-haired beauty does is letting out a shocked shriek, eyes wide in horror and cheeks nine shades of red. I keep my stare transfixed on her chaotic appearance, not daring to look at the person _above_ her, feeling the whirlwind of emotions rushing from my toes to my ears.

"I'm serious," I emphasize, swallowing, "I'm scarred _for life_."

Mask your face, Rose.

Mask your face.

Do not let your mouth drop the floor in disbelief. Do not let your features contort into rage. Do not stop blinking. Do not let your eyes water. Do not – I repeat – do _not_ let tears well up in front of this sorry excuse of a wizard.

Because that's what he does so well, doesn't he?

Shutting off emotions.

Concealing facial expressions.

Being cold and heartless.

I think I just summed up the essence of the misery that is called Scorpius Malfoy.

"Shit, _Rose_!" Violetta finally reacts, grabbing the first piece of clothing she can get her hands on, which happens to be his shirt. She hastily puts it over her head and jumps up. "I – I didn't – Merlin, what – what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I don't know," I bite out sarcastically. "Perhaps I'm here because I'm fucking _Head Girl_? Or is that too much information to get through your thick skulls?"

I know she doesn't deserve my wrath, but frankly, I'm way too far beyond all borders of sensibility to care right now.

"Weasley, keep it down."

That voice.

That _damned_ voice.

I slowly turn my head and look at him, see that apparently he has found the time to put on his boxers, because he is now also standing straight without being butt naked. I look at him, at his messy white hair sticking out of place and falling in front of his darkened eyes. I look at him, staring back at me with a sickening air of smugness surrounding him. I look at him and feel an inexplicably hurtful twinge in my guts. I look at him, and the worst anger I've ever experienced seeps through my insides, my veins, my heart – my everything.

I see _red_.

"Keep it _down_?" I repeat, dangerously low. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

He lets out a humourless laugh. "Don't be such a drama queen, Weasley. You even told me yourself I could use the common room tonight."

"Violetta," I say through clenched teeth, "kindly remove yourself from this room as soon as possible, please. I think Malfoy and I have some unfinished business to handle."

Luckily Violetta immediately obeys. She starts gathering her stuff and before she leaves the room, she throws me one last apologetic glance. I don't bother to return the sentiment, even though I'm sure she must be horrendously distressed about the fact that she didn't get to end whatever she and Malfoy were doing.

"Don't strain yourself now," Malfoy says mockingly when Violetta has disappeared.

The nerve of this boy, I will never be able to understand. You should really see him right now. You really should. You'd be wanting to bloody wrench his neck too.

Because the way he is smirking at me now, indicates that he doesn't regret _any of it_. He finds this sardonically amusing, and _that_ is why I must keep this rage inside.

He doesn't deserve the satisfaction in knowing that I –

"Why do you care anyway?" He continues, pushing my buttons.

I put a hand against the wall to steady myself. "Who said anything about _caring_?"

"That was kind of a give-away, Weasley," he says matter-of-factly, "with how you nearly hauled Violetta out of here."

Well, if you put it _that_ way.

I close my eyes, bite my lip, try to control the jolts of fury and another turbid emotion racing through my head. "It was bloody disgusting, Malfoy. Seriously, it's not like you couldn't have gone to your room! It's not like you didn't _know_ I was going to –"

I stop dead in my tracks.

Something hits me like a ton of bricks. Like a bucket of water splashing over me.

"You _knew_," I say softly, the colour draining from my face. "You _wanted_ it to happen."

He snorts and gives me a disbelieving look. "Have you gone mental, Weasley? Why on earth would I do _that_?"

I start walking towards him.

"Because it's _who you are_, Malfoy," I hiss, "because you're sadistic like that. You wanted to remind me that we mean nothing to each other, not even driven by _hormones_. You wanted me to witness just how much you care for integrity. You wanted to _hurt_ me, Malfoy."

He stares at me from underneath two raised eyebrows, trying to come off as cool, calm as collected as always. But I can see the cracks beginning to form in his useless facade. "I just wanted to shag Violetta, Weasley. That's _all_."

"_Admit it_," I order with great force in my tone, coming to a halt right in front of his naked chest.

He holds up his two hands in defence. "Whoa, Weasley. You're beginning to _scare_ me. I'm telling you, you've just got a vivid imagination. And I don't see why you care, anyway?"

We lock eyes.

Whoever said that eyes are the window of the soul, should've met Scorpius Malfoy. No matter how deep and beautiful and piercing, his eyes are completely unreadable. Like a bloody charmed empty grey piece of parchment.

"Listen carefully, Malfoy," I spit out his name with unusual venom, "I _don't_ care. I don't. I couldn't care less about you and your affairs. I am merely _revolted_ by your actions, and that I had to _see_ it. I _hate_ you."

With that said, I turn on my heel, reward him with a glare so icy it could've frozen a blast furnace, and leave the room to go to my bed. He doesn't speak a word, just stands there like a gaping fish.

I slam the door behind me.

I've always been a magnificent liar.

Especially to myself.

* * *

When I'm on my way to class the next morning, the worried voice of Louis calls me out of my thoughts.

"Is something wrong, Rosie?"

Oh, no. You read that _all_ wrong, Louis dear.

Everything's _splendid_. Happiness blossoms in my heart, my thoughts are fixed on gardens with hyacinths and carnations in full bloom, pink bunnies are hopping around, while humming birds are fluttering in the air and a sun radiates the scene.

Or _not_.

"I'm just _peachy_, Louis," I reply, unable to keep the sarcasm out.

My handsome cousin jogs up next to me puts an arm around my shoulder. "Whoa, what's gotten your knickers in such a twist?"

"Nothing," I sigh tiredly.

Louis grimaces. "Rose, you look positively awful. You don't have _another_ hangover, do you?"

"Yeah well, I wish," I mumble, unintelligible.

The grip around my shoulders tightens. "Hey, cheer up! What happened?"

"I just – " I gulp down my words, remembering that I cannot tell him what's truly on my mind. "I just don't feel well. I've got so much work and there's so much pressure..."

"Heads duties?"

"Well – yeah. That's exactly it," I lie effortlessly.

The Suave Face makes its comeback. "Isn't Malfoy helping enough, or..."

I nearly topple over.

My heart stops beating for a second at the mention of that cursed name.

The inexplicable anger and pain I felt last night rushes back at me in full force, and it takes all of my strength to not let it show. I don't even know why I'm _that_ furious. Or why I felt that mental slap when I saw him and Violetta together, or why I still feel it whenever I think about it – which is, approximately every sixty seconds. I mean, aside from the fact that he and I almost (keyword being '_almost'_ here!) snogged two times, there is absolutely no reason for me to be as bothered as I am now, right?

Right?

"No, no, that's not it," I say quickly, before I raise any suspicion. "He's just being a cad, that's all."

"Well, we can't exactly say that that's unusual, can we?" Louis comments spitefully.

I manage a smile. "We can, but then we'd be lying."

You know, lying? That thing I'm pulling off so well?

"Oh, by the way, are you coming to our Quiddich game Sunday afternoon?" Louis asks excitedly.

As I said before, I don't really care much about Quiddich, which is pretty strange considering that I come from a family where nearly everyone is a complete Quiddich _lunatic_. Louis is a Chaser for the Ravenclaw team, James was a seeker for the Gryffindor team, so was Roxanne, and of course all of our parents played for their House. Except for my mother, that is.

I guess I'm a lot like her in that sense.

But that doesn't mean I can't use a distraction.

Because I can.

Desperately.

"Sure," I say, and then we both shut up because we've entered the Transfigurations class.

* * *

A week has passed by.

Evenings were spent in the Ravenclaw or even occasionally the Gryffindor common room, playing Wizarding Chess or simply doinghomework. I surrounded myself with Louis and Albus most of the time, except for the moments when they had dates to attend. In that case I visited my other pretty cousin, Lily. When that didn't work out (she wouldn't shut up about Malfoy at a certain point), I even hung out with my _little brother_. Not that Hugo and I don't get along, but we generally don't 'bond' very much. Of course I could've looked up my other friends, but they have the annoying habit of constantly harassing me with questions about SS.

(_Superdelicious Stephano,_ as they dubbed him.)

(I kid you not.)

During class, I have made it my personal goal to evade both Malfoy and Stephano as much as possible. Considering my track record concerning this activity, I'd say I'm quite skilled. Stephano has tried to encounter me more than once, but the only time it worked, I managed to get rid of him rather quickly by explaining I had a viral infection that could infect everyone that came too close. He swallowed it.

Now, don't give me that look.

I mean, I obviously can't see you, but I can _sense_ what you're thinking.

You're thinking: "Merlin, what kind of bitch is this girl, avoiding her boyfriend like that?"

Well, truth is, I've been thinking the same.

Yet I can't help it. I don't know what to make of that last kiss. How much did it mean to him? How much does it mean to me? Why don't I think about it when I'm in bed at night? Why don't I want to gush about it to Lily or any of my girl friends? Does _he_ think about it when he's in bed at night and does _he_ talk about it to his fellow Slytherins?

This tiring ordeal _confuses_ me.

I _hate_ being confused.

Which brings me to the next point.

The enigmatic tendencies of Scorpius Malfoy.

By far the worst issue. Because instead of thinking about Stephano when falling asleep, I'm nearly ripping my sheets to shreds in agony over Malfoy. I'm serious. It is stronger than my own willpower. Every time I return from my friends, all happy and cheerful, I just have to take one look at the Heads common room, and in a flash I'm brought back to that very moment I walked through that door. It's _all_ I can think about when I'm ready to close my eyes. I think about Malfoy, about Violetta, about Malfoy _and_ Violetta, him on top of her, she on top of him, gasping, blushing, panting – _ugh_. And you know what's worst? That it _never_ fails to overwhelm me. Each and every time it makes me want to vomit on the memory of him and her in that doomed easy-chair.

Yes.

Extremely festive.

On top of that, Malfoy and I are still Head Boy and Head Girl, in spite of our personal troubles. We have _duties_ to fulfil. Like checking if the students are in their rooms after curfew.

(Something I am currently busying myself with.)

The only difficulty, is that neither of us has bothered to inform each other what we've been up to. I suppose it's a silent agreement between me and him that I'm the one doing the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor floor, while he does the other two. I mean, I presume this because I never run into him during my rounds, and -

"Well, well. Look who we've got here."

You know what?

Life is full of irony.

And not the fun kind either.

"_What_, Malfoy?" I don't think my voice has ever sounded so hostile.

Malfoy, who is walking – no, _sauntering_ like he owns this place - from the other direction towards me, folds his arms and smirks. Looking a whole lot more impeccable than the last time I gave his exterior any attention, he stops when he has neared me.

"You're such a dork, Weasley," he drawls haughtily. "Are you really doing _rounds_?"

I pretend not to notice that I'm a whole lot more nervous than I was five seconds ago. "No, I'm just wandering around here for _fun_."

His smirk increases, telling me he definitely has something up his sleeve. "Oh, that's funny."

"Ha, ha. Yes. Notice me rolling on the floor," I bite out, bitterness welling up again. "What is it, Malfoy?"

"Thought you'd never ask," he replies sardonically. "I haven't done _any_ rounds in a week or so."

"_What_?" I gasp out in indignation. That – that _unbearable_ monster!

He laughs softly. "Well, since you were so busy ignoring me and not showing up in our common groom, I didn't exactly get the chance to discuss duties with you, did I?"

"You should've done the Slytherin and Hufflepuff corridors!" I exlaim, placing my hands on my hips. Somehow that makes me feel more secure standing in front of his tall posture. Not that he intimidates me or anything, but still.

"So you really _were_ ignoring me?" he asks, one eyebrow lifted, a knowing look marring his handsome face.

"No!" I cry out a little too soon."No! I wasn't! I just want to keep our meetings to a minimum. You know, I don't want to look at your face any more than is required and all that."

"Weasley, Weasley, Weasley," he tsk's, coming closer.

I take a step backwards and glare. "Yes, very good. That _is_ my name."

"You're still bothered about Violetta, aren't you?" This is more of statement than a question.

Sweat begins to break through my pores. "How can I if I never was bothered in the first place?"

"Very convincing, Weasley," Malfoy takes another step towards me, making my back hitting the wall in response. "Quite a show you're pulling off here."

"Isn't there anyone else you can _torture_ with your presence?" I peep, really, _really_ annoyed at our close proximity.

He then catches me off guard _again_.

"But," he pauses and puts his pale, slender hand on my cheek, "_you're _my victim of choice today."

The skin under his hand burns and I'm too startled to react appropriately. In a small voice, I ask: "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Nothing special," he replies casually, bringing his mouth next to my ear.

Why the bloody hell is his breath so minty and fresh?

I gulp.

"I'm just delivering you some flashbacks..." he continues, referring to Club Enchanted.

My eyes grow larger. I finally regain some of my awareness.

"Malfoy," I push him further away from me. "This isn't working. Give it up. Go shag Violetta or something."

I don't mean that, by the way.

His smirk swiftly drops, but it instantly reappears. "You _so_ are bothered by it. Merlin, you're so obvious it's not even funny anymore."

"It's wasn't supposed to be," I roll my eyes and expand the distance between us.

He tries to come closer again, but I don't give him the chance. He watches amusedly how I hurry away from him - almost like he knows that I am doing this for the sole reason that he is _unnerving_ me.

"How are things with Stephano, by the way?" He calls out just before I want to walk down the stairs.

I throw him an irritated look over my shoulder before taking off.

"Sod _off_, Malfoy."

* * *

Yeah, I know. A little shorter than usual. But I just don't have the time, that's all. Now let me know what you think!


	14. Fourteen

Here's the deal. This is going to be my busiest part of the year, 'cause I have to finish all of my projects and my exams are coming up. So my updating frequency might slow down a bit.

I hate this chapter. I don't know why. I just do. I sincerely hope you don't, though.

**Disclaimer: **don't own, blah blah blah.

**FOURTEEN**

It's Friday evening.

And I'm spending it in my own common room for the first time this week.

With Malfoy.

Why, you ask?

Because professor McGonagall was so kind to give us that horrible party assignment.

"Look," Malfoy speaks up, sitting on the opposite of the table, "we _both_ don't want to be here, so let's make it quick. Any ideas?"

I, of course, am sitting with my back to the easy-chair. "I was hoping you would have some."

"Weasley," he looks at me like I'm crazy, "it has to be _Muggle_-themed. _Muggle_. I don't know _anything_ about Muggles."

"I _know_ you're not the brightest bulb of the bunch, but you can _at least_ give it a shot," I say while taking a piece of parchment, to emphasize the fact that we need to get started.

His eyes hit the ceiling. "What do you want me to suggest? Hollywood? Rock 'n roll? _Soccer_?"

I tilt my head up, surprised. "You just said you didn't know anything about Muggles!"

"Yeah well, I was in Muggle studies for a year," he shrugs.

"Then why did you say you didn't know anything about it?" I ask curiously.

He smirks. "I slept my way through it and I presumed I wouldn't remember any of it. But those themes just popped up in my mind. Don't take them seriously though."

"I wasn't going to," I reply, sighing because I don't want to be here _at all_.

"Dear Merlin," Malfoy groans, apparently frustrated as well, "to think what kind of things I could've done instead."

"Shagging Violetta for example," I mumble under my breath.

"I mean, I was invited to so many fun things," he continues imperturbably, more to himself than to me. 

"Like that party at the Slytherins, or Club Enchanted, or that gamble game my friend and I had –"

"That's it!" I yell out, slamming a hand on the table. "That's it! Gamble games!"

"Gamble games?" he repeats sceptically.

"Well, not _gamble games_," I explain. "_Casino_ night."

"That might not be a bad idea," Malfoy says thoughtfully, his fingers grazing his chin.

Before I realize it, I give him a bright smile. "Oh, great! Then we're done here!"

Malfoy, who seems a bit startled at my smile, opens his mouth and then closes it again. He looks like he wanted to say something, but has swallowed his words. He keeps staring at me for a long time, until -

"Aren't you glad?" I ask unsurely.

He blinks, and snaps out of it. "Oh, uh, yeah, I am."

"Good."

He shoves his chair backwards and stands up. "Hey, listen, can we continue this some other time?"

Is it me or is Malfoy suddenly looking skittish?

"Alright," I respond, relieved, "but I _do_ want to get this thing over and done with. So are you available tomorrow?"

"Um, yeah," he says, still with that bewildered air, "I'm free. We should probably work on it all day. Planning and buying stuff and all that."

"You're right," I concede.

The thing is, even though he's a selfish monster, and even though I had to watch him doing the deed with Violetta just a week ago, I'm not _completely_ dreading this. I mean, he _is_ acting quite pleasant today. Who knows if tomorrow just _might_ become a nice afternoon?

Ah.

Who am I kidding?

"I'm off then," Malfoy says, gesturing towards the door with his thumb.

Something drives me to smile at him again. "Bye."

"Bye," he replies, suiting the action to the word.

But why oh why can't I shake the feeling that there's something _strange_ about him?

* * *

The next morning I arrive in our common room clad in a pair of jeans and my Ravenclaw sweater and scarf. 

I spent more time in front of the mirror than I should have, but I have to do something to compensate Malfoy's pretty face. I mean, I'm not much of a make-up girl – that's more Lily's thing – but next to someone with essentially perfect looks like Scorpius Malfoy, you ought to embellish yourself.

"Weasley."

I turn around and find said boy entering the room from outside. He is dressed similarly, only the materials of his clothing are about twenty times as fancy as mine. I remember this used to vex me endlessly when we were younger, because I couldn't stand the way he was so blatant about it. We can afford cashmere sweaters too, you know. But somewhere along the lines, I somehow forgot that it annoyed me so much.

Don't ask me why.

I probably got used to it. Like when you move to a new home, and there's this noise that keeps you up every night, after a while you _will_ fall asleep just because _you get used to it_.

"Malfoy," I say surprised. "Why weren't you in your room?"

"Well," he begins, waving with the piece of parchment in his hand. "I went to McGonagall and she was okay with the theme we've chosen. I also got us permission to leave the Hogwarts school grounds today."

I nearly skip towards him.

"Oh, that's great!" I squeal happily. "Where are we going? Hogsmeade?"

He rolls his eyes, but I notice a faint upping of the corners of his mouth. "Of course not, Weasley. Muggle London, to buy all of that stuff. McGonagall arranged us a Port Key."

"Fantastic! Seriously, I love Muggle London," I start rambling, forgetting whom I'm talking to. "My grandparents live there. It's been a while since I've been there, actually... But oh, then we could go to Oxford Street..." I gaze dreamily for a few seconds, and then a question pops up. "Who are we taking with us?"

Malfoy is staring at me like my hair has suddenly turned blue, still with that suppressed smile.

"You're mental, Weasley," he tries to scowl, but fails horribly.

"No, I'm not. I'm just happy," I shrug. "And are you dodging my question?"

"Your question?" He scratches his neck. "Uh, no one actually."

I give him a scanning look from underneath two raised eyebrows. "Did you just say no one?"

"I did," he confirms, showing a renewed sense of self-confidence, folding his arms defensively. "The prefects aren't exactly aware of our plans, are they?"

I suddenly realize he might actually be _nervous_ about the fact that it are _his_ doings that we are forced to spend this day together. This causes me to laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" he asks in that disturbed tone of someone who's being mocked.

I continue beaming at him and push him slightly. "_Ooooh_, is little Malfoy scared of the big bad Rose?"

"Oh, come off it," he attempts to snap, but the smile he's been holding back finally breaks free.

And, you see, this has become quite a funny situation when you think about it.

Because, currently, we aren't Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy, lifelong enemies extraordinaire, products sprang from two families that were never particularly fond of each other. We aren't. I'm not biting and bitchy and he's not cold and arrogant. We're just two teenagers. Smiling at each other.

He looks _so_ much more human when he smiles.

Unbelievable.

"Weasley..." he says awkwardly, clearly not familiar with this situation.

Then again, neither am I.

"Never mind, Malfoy," I cut him off, "let's make a deal, alright?"

"A deal?" he echoes.

"Yes," I validate. "What if... What if we – I mean, you hate me, I hate you, I know. But what if we just, like, acted as if we were mere acquaintances, for _one day_?"

I bite my lip.

He's frowning at me in deep contemplation. When he doesn't say anything for three full minutes, I'm ready to smack myself for being so naive and stupid.

"Okay, I guess not," I comment, trying to walk past him towards the door.

This is beyond embarrassing.

_Beyond_, let me tell you.

I mean, I bloody forgive him for what he pulled on me with Violetta and all that – in my mind, that is – and this is what I get? Merlin. Teaches me to never _ever_ offer truces to blond gits again.

"Wait!" He unexpectedly calls out, and catches my wrist.

Was it just a couple of weeks ago that he grabbed my wrists in our common room after I'd established our password, promising me every kind of retribution with his murderous eyes? Because it feels so much longer. Because the touch of his fingers wrapped around my skin feels so much less sickening than it felt back then.

I glare at him, eyes narrowed to slits. "_What_?"

"Alright," he breathes. "Alright. I was just – I mean, we don't have to call each other by our first names or anything, do we?"

Great relief floods through me.

"No, _of course_ not," I grin, simulating a horror-struck face. "Let's not exaggerate, shall we?"

"Good," he chuckles, releasing my wrist. "Let's go then."

* * *

With all indications of Wizardry gone, and Muggle pounds in our pockets, Malfoy and I plump down on a hard, cold floor. Dazed and with rustling ears, I crack one eye open. The room we've arrived in isn't exactly a glamorous or aesthetically responsible place.

"Oh, Merlin," I hear Malfoy groaning beside me.

I smirk inwardly over what's to come.

"What the _fuck_ is this place?" He immediately exclaims when he apparently has taken the time to look around.

I push myself up from the ground, though a bit dizzy. "Toilet stalls of the underground."

"_What_?" Malfoy whines, struggling up too. "Is _this_ how Muggles build their sanitary?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Yes. Muggles are dirty and sordid. Didn't your grandfather tell you?"

"Countless times," he says, copying my gesture.

I push open the door and stumble upon the sight of an underground stuffed with commuters. Malfoy comes up from behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. I steal a glance upwards, at his aristocratic profile, and see him staring at the scene with wide, grey eyes.

"_Please_ tell me you know how these kind of things work," he demands in a low tone.

I laugh softly, but I must admit I'm getting kind of warm too. I've been in Muggle London more than a few times, yes, but the last time we ever took the subway I must've been around _five_. I accidentally blew up a kid's birthday cake (the little boy kept on sticking his tongue out), and after that incident grandma Granger decided to never take that transport with us ever again.

"Uh, sure," I sputter, but the disbelieving look he gives me tells me he doesn't buy any of it.

And why hasn't he removed his hand yet?

I mean, it _burns_. Through the fabric of my thick _sweater_.

"Alright, then," he says, pinching my shoulder softly in a _comforting_ manner. "Let's go."

I'm tempted to ask him if this is how he acts with every female acquaintance.

But then I realize that the answer is yes...

... And that I do not want any confirmation of this.

When we start walking, he slowly lets his hand dart from my shoulder down my arm as he lets go. I don't even _feel_ his fingertips, but the gesture sends shivers down my spine. I give all what it takes to not show what his movements unlace in me.

I'm _not_ just any female acquaintance.

"Oh my _Goooood_!"

A sudden squeal breaks me out of my train of thought. It is coming from a young, blonde woman dressed in a business suit. She waddles towards us with racing speed. The clicking of her inhumanly high heels on the pavement annoys me greatly, but I decide not to let my irritation get the best of me. I manage a polite smile. I open my mouth to ask her if I can help her with something when -

"Oh my God?" Malfoy repeats quizzically, one eyebrow shot up, as if the woman has just said something entirely eccentric.

Which she has, in his world.

"Oh, well, excuse me!" the woman shouts out in a shrill voice. "How _impulsive_ of me to startle you!"

Malfoy sneers. "Who said you _startled_ us?"

"Excuse Scorpius, miss," I intervene smartly, stepping forward, "he is quite religious, you must understand. He doesn't appreciate the Lord's name being used in vain."

Malfoy's penetrating gaze screams questions.

"Oh, my dear, I am _so_ incredibly sorry!" The woman turns to Malfoy, putting a stretched hand on her chest for the dramatic effect. "You _must_ forgive me!"

Merlin, is this woman ever _bothersome_.

I mean, is it that necessary to screech for the entire underground, possibly ruining my eardrums in process, _and_ making a fool out of herself towards Malfoy?

Honestly. He may probably be the most handsome boy you've ever come across, but that _still_ doesn't give you the right to hit on him. You're nearing your _sixties_.

More like thirty-two, but whatever.

All the same.

"Of course, lady," Malfoy plays along immediately, and quite convincing too, "it's just like my dear Rose here next to me said. I'm _extremely_ religious."

Before the woman gets the chance to deepen the subject, I speak up again, unconsciously linking my arm in Malfoy's. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Oh, yes, of course," she sends us a gigantic smile. "I'm Anna Steinbeck, a journalist. My colleagues are just around the corner, over there, see?"

We look, and we see.

Malfoy hasn't tore away his arm yet.

"Well," the journalist continues, "we are working on an article for a young teenagers magazine, called Teen Magazine, indeed. It will be about young love. So what we're doing is looking for happy couples in their teens to photograph and answer a few questions."

"And that concerns us because...?" I ask sceptically, due to which Malfoy elbows me.

The journalist gives us a the _duh_-look. "Isn't that _obvious_? Look at how _radiant_ you two look together! You are such a beautiful couple! A _poster_ example, really!"

Pink dots appear on my cheeks.

Okay, so maybe this woman isn't so bad...

"But –"

"Oh, in _that_ case!" Malfoy interrupts charmingly, slipping his arm around my waist protectively. "We'd _love_ to pose, Miss."

He never ceases to amaze me with his acting skills.

But then again, I'm not that bad either. Or my body, in every respect. I don't even have to put _effort_ in the feigned effect his touch has on me.

"Great!" She claps her hands excitedly. "Follow me, then."

We do as we're asked. Because Malfoy doesn't remove his arm, I get the impulse to snuggle closer. I remember that Tony and I used to walk like this too – entangled limbs, hip to hip – but I can't recall ever feeling so... _complementary_. In fact, I never liked it that much. Our steps never passed synchronically. We never flowed like we were one.

It's like that moment in club Enchanted.

Our movements become supplements of one another.

And it scares me.

_Boy_, does it scare me alright.

"So, this is my team," Anna says after we've arrived. Two men and one woman from the same calibre as her – suit, professional, bright smile – tax us with calculating eyes. "This is Jeffrey, Nick and Petra."

We shake hands with all three of them. From the corner of my eye I can see Malfoy looking perplexed at the material the four have brought with them. I bet he hasn't seen any of those before. Come to think about it, it's kind of cute.

In a four-year-old-child-way.

Or something.

"Good morning, Petra," Malfoy recovers at the speed of light, winks at the brown-haired woman. She nearly faints. "And of course, good morning, gentlemen."

Did I just think of Malfoy as cute?

Because, if I did, _scratch_ that.

"We will start with the questions, alright?" Petra commands, in a friendly manner, tapping her pen on her bloc note.

"Okay," we respond simultaneously.

Petra rewards us with a glowing beam. "When and where did you meet each other?"

"We both go to the same boarding school, and we both were eleven when we arrived there," I reply casually.

_And we despised each other straight off._

"Oh," she writes down my words. "Did you hit it off immediately, or were you too young for that?"

"We were a tad too young for that, of course," Malfoy answers sweetly.

_Sure. Because you weren't already impressing the girls with your newest tools, were you?_

"Then when did the first sparks fly?"

Malfoy and I exchange looks.

"We were fifteen," Malfoy begins.

_No, that's when you lost your virginity to Olivia Parkinson, remember?_

"We got to know each other because of a project," I add.

_A partnership which made us both want to tear our hair out. Or better, _each other's_ hair out._

Petra nods comprehensively. "And that's when you learned to appreciate one another's company?"

"Indeed," Malfoy says sweetly, lying through his teeth. "We got to know each other very well. About little things, you know?" He fakes a loving gaze my way. "I learned that she loves chocolate, for example..."

This is my cue to giggle. "And that he just _adores_ tea..."

(Malfoy hates tea.)

"So we became best of friends," he makes up suavely.

_Best of enemies, you mean._

"And even though we were _crazy_ about each other," the words roll off my tongue easily, "we were hesitant at first, because we didn't want anything to damage our great friendship..."

Malfoy is really getting into the game as well. "But one day, I woke up, and thought, she's _worth_ it. So I bought her a full box of chocolates and decorated her entire room with roses."

"Oh, that's _wonderful_!" Both Anna and Petra sigh dreamily, undoubtedly imagining to be in my so-called place.

"It was magnificent," I comment for the finishing touch. "Then we said we loved each other... and he kissed me! It was _so_ romantic! Can you _believe it_?"

Thank Merlin _I_ can't.

"A true fairytale," do I sense jealousy in Anna's tone?

Malfoy draws me closer. My head rests just above his armpit. I breathe in his cologne and close my eyes momentarily.

We're putting up _quite_ a good show here.

Aren't we?

* * *

I hope I didn't disappoint you too much. Stay tuned for part II of their London trip!


	15. Fifteen

Thanks for the positive feedback, and for the many people who wished me luck; I appreciate it.

**Disclaimer**: do not own HP.

**FIFTEEN**

"Good," Petra says eventually, "I think it's time for the pictures."

"Great," I respond enthusiastically. "What kind of pictures are you shooting?"

Anna speaks up. "Well, we're going to take a few professional photo's, from which we're probably going to pick one. But to emphasize the spontaneity of youth, we'd also like you to take pictures in a photo booth."

"What's a – " Malfoy tries to ask, but I finish for him.

"Oh, that seems like a nice idea! Do we have to look like something particular, or...?"

"Preferably," Petra steps in. "Just go in there and act fresh, silly, happy, _in love_. Can't be too hard for two beautiful teenagers such as yourself."

Quite the predicament we're in here.

I mean, the combination of the names Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley doesn't exactly summon the words 'happy' and 'in love' in my head.

But maybe that's just me.

"You're absolutely right," butts in Malfoy, who must've read the hesitation on my face. "With someone as beautiful as Rose here, there won't be any hassles."

_Attention_!

Disgusting display of corn here!

"_I'm_ not the beautiful one here," I retort, fluttering with my eyelids. Then I take his hand in mine and giggle: "Let's go!"

I drag him with me into the photo booth, closing the curtain behind me.

"Damn, this place has the size of a bloody _snitch_," Malfoy drawls lowly through his teeth, eyeing the small cabin in distaste.

"A bit like your mind then?" I point out smugly, making sure Anna & co aren't able to catch my words.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, Weasley. They only made me Head Boy for _show_." Then, as if he just realized something: "But, of course, they _would've_ done that if I weren't the intelligent young man I am."

I imitate the eye roll and snort. "_Sure_, Malfoy. Could you please just shut up and sit down?"

He smirks in his usual, horrendously annoying way, but does as I asked. He sits down on the little chair in front of the screen. He'd probably never admit it, but I notice the intrigue in his eyes.

"Okay, I hate to ask this," he looks disturbed, "but I have no idea how this works, so you'll have to do it."

"I wouldn't have expected otherwise," I comment sweetly.

Before he can retaliate, I cut him off by sitting down on his lap. His eyes widen when I put an arm around his shoulder.

"What are you – "

"Do you see that screen? Yes, well, that's your face. That frame indicates the actual photo. How do you think we're going to fit on one picture?"

He sends me an aggravated look, and puts money in the machine.

He keeps on staring at the screen, at the image of our faces. While doing so, he puts his arms around my waist. His trademark smell becomes apparent in the cabin, and it instigates a nervousness that I attribute to what we're about to do.

I follow his example and look at our reflection too. It strikes a chord deep inside of me. Because Anna was _right_. With the contrast in our looks, we _do_ make a fabulous couple. Such a shame Malfoy's that much of a jerk ninety percent of the time.

Suddenly I feel his hands creeping up my sides. I turn around to ask what in Merlin's name he is doing, but then I -

"Aaahhhh! Stop! _Stooooop_!"

The sod is _tickling_ me.

I squeal and struggle to get out of his grasp. He has other plans though. While not quitting the horrible tickling for one nanosecond, he manages to keep me on his lap, in spite of all my wild movements.

"Why – " I gasp, "are you – are you – ahhh – doing this?"

His face is very nearby when he says suavely: "We have to act fresh – "

_Flash._

"Cut it _out_!" I scream, laughing loudly. "_Please_!"

He starts laughing too, but doesn't cut out _any_ of it. "- and silly –"

_Flash_.

Then, when I duck into his hard chest in attempt to defend myself, he finally quits. I wipe away tears from laughter. I breathe in his smell again, at full force.

"_Thank_ you," I pant, looking up at his glorious smile.

He does nothing to get me less close. "- and happy –"

_Flash_.

The aforementioned nervousness overwhelms me again, like a ton of hippogriffs. His smile deepens, showing a line of perfect, white teeth. I wonder briefly whether he charmed them to be that way, or if they were perfect to begin with, just like the rest of his appearance. I don't get much to ponder, however, because he then does the most unexpected thing you possibly could've thought of.

He cups my face and plants a kiss on my forehead.

"- and in love."

_Flash_.  


He pulls away, places his hands on my hips and gently pushes me up, while he stands up from his chair. I'm too flabbergasted too utter a word, his small kiss still blistering on my skin.

"What the hell is possess - " I start questioningly, but I'm cut off by a hysterical shriek from outside the cabin.

"Oh my _God_!"

I recognise the voice to unmistakably be Petra's, and I walk out to see what's wrong. The scene I encounter, however, is one of Petra and Anna hanging over the small pictures with mouths wide open in what I guess is a mix of envy and awe. Malfoy is standing next to them, but his face is closed off while he looks at the photos, and I ask myself whether that incident of the cute kiss really did occur or was simply a figment of my imagination.

But a kiss on my _forehead_?

Not even my _imagination_ could come up with something as mental as _that_.

I mean, with Malfoy you either have a quick shag or endless battles of wit.

You _don't_ get kisses on your forehead.

You just don't.

"Are they alright?" I clear my throat, causing the three heads to snap up.

"The photos?" Anna asks with bulging eyes, as if she can't believe I even dared to question this. "They are nothing short of _amazing_! Come take a look yourself!"

I go towards them and worm my way through Malfoy and Anna, who are standing too close for comfort anyway. The first look I take catches me off guard, just like the moment I saw our two faces next to each other on the screen.

"Wow," is the only thing I can utter, and what an understatement that is.

The first picture is one of me with my mouth widened to the size of a Quaffle, eyes pressed together in agony, pulling away from Malfoy, whose face is gloating in smugness. In the second one, our noses almost touch, and we've both got enormous smiles. The third one shows me leaning onto his upper chest with a satiated grin, while he's looking down at me with a gleam spread across his handsome features. But the last one is the one that makes me catch my breath. Malfoy's slender, pale fingers are loosely holding up my chin, his eyes are closed, and his lips are beautifully pressed against the top of my pinnule. My eyes are wide open, and staring at him in amazement.

"They are really beautiful," I observe after I've recovered from sheer shock.

Petra and Anna nod in convinced agreement, but Malfoy is still not saying a word. He just keeps on staring at the piece of paper like it has grown a third eye.

Before I can ask what he thinks about it, the two other men, who haven't said much either, itch closer to us.

"I think we ought to shoot the professional pictures now. We're in a hurry," the sandy-haired one, whose name was Jeffrey if I'm not mistaken, speaks up.

Malfoy awakes from his trance. "Yeah, so are we actually."

"Good," the other man says, and points to the placard of the underground. "Could you please stand over there?"

We follow his instructions. "Alright."

* * *

"They were _sooooo_ falling for it!" I exclaim, amused, after we've successfully managed to take the right way to the centre of London. As for me, I've seen this all before. As for Malfoy, he is tearing up in curiosity.

He resembles a three-year-old in its 'Mum-What-Is-This?'-Faze.

Gotta love it.

"_'And that he just adores tea!_'" Malfoy imitates me with a girly voice. "Merlin, Weasley. What utter nonsense!"

"Oh, what did you think of '_one day I woke up and thought, she's worth it'_?" I respond, imitating him too.

He lets out a genuine laugh and shakes his head. "Well, what did _you_ think of '_we were crazy about each other_, blah blah blah, _didn't want to ruin our great friendship_, blah blah blah'?"

"Like you'd _ever_ wait to shag someone for some friendship ! Did you see the look on their faces when I told them about our first kiss?" I gush.

"They were jealous of you, Weasley. But, do tell, how could they _not _be?" Malfoy says haughtily.

I sniff loudly. "I can think of a few ways."

"It was a _rhetorical_ question," he points out. "What was that address you gave to Petra at the end, by the way?"

"My grandparents'. She told me she'd send me a copy and I could hardly give her our own address, so..."

"Oh, so we actually get to see this ridiculous crap?"

I shoot him a _duh_-look. "Of _course_ we do."

Then we finally spot the store we'd been looking for: a gambling games shop. The façade is covered by the image of two dices. When Malfoy keeps on staring at it, much like he'd been staring at the computer screen, I take him by his arm and drag him inside.

"Aw," he complains, rubbing over his elbow. "You didn't have to do that!"

"You're such a pussy," I comment through clenched teeth.

We walk further into the store. The colours inside are a mix of green, red and black, and the entire interior reminds me of one giant Roulette game. We're surrounded by fancy tables meant to play poker on, and by all kinds of professional deck cards.

"What games are we planning on playing?" Malfoy asks while eyeing all the stuff with clear interest.

"I was thinking Texas Hold 'Em, Blackjack, Roulette," I sum up, thinking of all the nights we played gamble games.

A familiar smirk creeps onto Malfoy's face. "What about strip poker?"

"Some more of those smart remarks and I'll just _die_ due to the intellectual atmosphere. Haven't you taken professor McGonagall into account?"

"You're _so_ boring, Weasley," Malfoy yawns ostentatiously, leaning against a pile of boxes.

"What_ever_," I dismiss him. "_I'm_ going to find what we need."

* * *

"_Weasley_, I'm _hungry_," Malfoy whines after we've ordered a huge amount of games in the store.

I groan, putting my hand palm against my forehead. "Merlin, you are such a spoiled brat!"

"Honestly, is _this_ how you treat your acquaintances?" Malfoy asks like the annoying prick he is.

"Honestly, is _this_ how _you_ act with _your_ acquaintances?" I retort.

He picks an invisible lint of dirt off his sweater. "It doesn't seem like many people find me annoying, now do they, Weasley?"

I make an indignant sound, but know he is right. Therefore, I switch the subject. "There's a warehouse. We could buy some food over there."

"I want ice cream," Malfoy informs thoughtfully. "Are you able to buy it there?"

Malfoy is on the surprising roll this year.

That much is obvious.

"_Ice cream_? How old are you? _Six_?"

"Oh, sod off," he snarls. "That warehouse looks enormous."

"Ooh, is teenie weenie Malfoy afraid he's going to get lost?" I inquire mockingly.

Malfoy's eyes fly upwards. "_You're_ the girl here, may I remind you."

"That is such a typical thing to say for a chauvinistic _pig_!" I divulge, throwing my hands in the air.

"Alright, alright." We arrive at the front of the warehouse. "What do you want to buy?"

"I don't know. A sandwich, maybe," I suggest.

"Let's make a competition out of it," he proposes with an evil glint in his grey eyes. "The one who's got their product first wins. The race ends on this _exact_ place."

I gape at him. "You don't _really_ think you've got a chance in this one, do you?"

Malfoy stretches his hand. "Care to make a wager around that?"

"What are we playing for?" I negotiate, giving him a scanning look.

"Next Saturday," an intermezzo for the theatrical effect, "the loser has to be the winner's slave for one day."

Malfoy?

My slave?

"_Even_ though it's pretty cliché," I answer, shaking his hand, "I'm in."

"Good."

His lips twitch into a malicious smirk I know all too well, and he straightens his back. A failed attempt to intimidate me, I would say. I school my own features into what I like to call my 'Dead-Certain-Face' and roll up the sleeves of my blue sweater. Cursing myself swiftly for wearing a pair of red ballerina shoes – in case I need to run – I pull my hair into a loose bun.

"Are you set?" Malfoy drawls in an impatient voice, taxing me from head to toe.

I reward him with the fakest smile I can muster. "The question is, are _you_ set?"

"That speaks for _itself_, Weasley," he tells me confidently.

We stand next to each other, straight in front of the door.

"One, two, thr – HEY! YOU DIRTY SLYTHERIN!"

Of course, Malfoy has already run off, and my screams dissolve into the mass of the huge warehouse.

Therefore, I shake my head in frustration and break into a run as well. I take a quick look around, and spot Malfoy's bright head immediately. I squint my eyes angrily when I realize he's walking over to a young girl, probably planning on asking her for instructions.

I'm very sorry, dear Malfoy, but _that's_ not going down.

I hastily sneak up behind the pair of them, and listen to the conversation they're having from behind.

"Excuse me, Miss," I hear Malfoy saying like the miserable piece of sucker up he is, "could you help me?"

The girl flips her brown curls behind her shoulder and grants him a dazzling smile. "Well, that depends."

Dear _Merlin_, unclasp your bra and undo your panties and you'll be more subtle.

"So, I was thinking..."

_This_ is my cue.

"Oh, Scorpius!" I exclaim loudly, startling them both. "Could you _please_ quit it?"

"Quit what?" the girl asks.

Malfoy settles for a murderous look my way.

"No, this girl probably _doesn't_ want to play bondage games with you!" I grab his arm. "You asked ten girls _already_, today!"

Malfoy's glare increases tenfold, and he does look kind of scary, but the way the girl takes a nervous step backwards makes it all worth it.

"Uh, I think I got to go," she brings out uncomfortably.

Before she turns around, I put a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Don't take it personally, it's just my duty as his sister to protect other girls from becoming victimized by his charms."

"Th – thanks," she stutters, and departs in a haste.

"You can thank Merlin that I haven't brought my wand with me," Malfoy looks like he's ready explode, "or else I would've hexed you so badly nobody would recognise you anymore."

"That's too bad, isn't it, Malfoy?" I say sweetly, and before taking off: "Happy hunting!"

I speed off towards what seems the deep frozen food department ,

Unfortunately, Malfoy has gotten the same idea.

Completely ignoring all the questions looks on our sides, Malfoy and I race each other. With the lead I started out with, I'm ahead of him, but he is close to moving past me. His legs are about twice as long, and I'm not exactly the most athletic girl to begin with. Nevertheless, I still arrive there first. The sandwiches appear in my view, and I'm ready to snatch them from the shelves, when -

_BAM_.

I trip over something and take a serious nosedive to the ground.

It takes a few seconds to register what happened to me. When I'm finally able to push myself up, I turn my head and open my eyes. I don't see anybody standing around me. The cotton threads in my head unravel bit by bit and that's the point where I remember.

My sandwich.

The blond prick's ice cream.

Our wager.

As if burned, I jump onto my feet and start snapping my head in every direction like a madwoman to see where my opponent is located. To my great terror, I find him standing at the cash register, waving with an ice cream in his hands, and a huge, sickening, I-told-you-so smirk plastered all across his stupid, annoying, pale face.

I am going to bloody _torment_ Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.

And I will not – I repeat, _not_ – spare him.

No matter how much he kisses my feet.

I'm _dead_ serious here.

* * *

Don't expect the next chapter to be out soon (hence my exams and all), but I'll REALLY do my best.


	16. Sixteen

Hey all! I _really_ shouldn't be posting up new chapters right now, but, _sigh_, I don't know about you guys, when I have to study I usually do anything _but_ studying. I don't know. Perhaps it's a technical defect in my system or something. Oh well...

**DISCLAIMER:** the usual.

**  
SIXTEEN  
**

Lily Potter is, unfortunately, the first one I happen to stumble upon when I'm back at Hogwarts.

You might know her.

She's dead pretty. She's also dead annoying. She's voluntarily obsessed with the thought of shagging Malfoy. She's also voluntarily obsessed with converting me to the Land of Malfoy Worshippers.

You begin the wonder why we're related _and_ friends.

"_Rose Weasley_!" She screeches as soon as she has spotted me, giving me her best impression of her mother _and_ grandmother. "_Just_ whom I needed to talk to!"

I come to a hesitant halt and tap my foot nervously. "Uh, you see, I'm kind of busy right now and – "

"Oh, no! Don't you even _think_ that thought! Don't you dare!" Lily exclaims loudly, poking a finger in my chest. "You won't get out of this one, _that_ I can promise you!"

I pout slightly, trying my innocent doe-eyed act on her. "What are you talking about, Lily darling?"

Okay.

So I might have overdone it a _tad_ with the 'darling', but I still think I did a reasonably good job.

"Dear _Merlin_, Rose, you are _so_ transparent!"

Or not.

"Okay! Okay!" I hold up my two hands in defeat. "What is it you want to know?"

"You went to _Muggle London_ with _Malfoy_, Rose!" Lily yells out, grabbing my arm to drag me with her.

I obey her wishes and let myself be carried. "It was for _Heads_ business, Lily. And how did you know anyway?"

"What utter BS!" She interjects disbelievingly. "What kind of Heads business would require you two to visit London together? And _everyone_ knows, Rose."

"I'll inform you on it later," I say, completely ignoring the fact that she doesn't want to talk about Heads business _at all, _and slightly perturbed that apparently the whole school is aware_._

Lily groans in vexation. "Just _how_ can you do this to me?"

"Do w_hat_ to you?" I ask impatiently, rolling my eyes.

This causes her to give me a pinch in my upper arm. "Visiting London with Malfoy aka Sex God and not telling me _any_ details! I mean, come _on_. These must've been _something_ exciting about the whole trip!"

"_Ow_!" I glare at her, rubbing the sore spot. "I'll promise to tell you if _you_ promise you'll shut up about it later on."

"Great!" She claps her hands happily and visibly cracks open her ears.

"So, we travelled by Port Key," I start explaining, "and then we landed in the underground, where some crazy woman thought we were a couple. She worked for a magazine and asked us for an interview and photos – "

"_Excuse_ me?" Lily interrupts with a jaw dropped to the floor. "You're a Muggle _celebrity_ now?"

I can't help the tugging of my lips, despite my best efforts to not seem amused. "One page in some brainless teen magazine does _not_ turn you into a celebrity overnight, Lily."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she waves away my comment. "Just don't end up flashing your knickers in front of the paparazzi – or lack thereof. I mean, Paris and Britney have been there, and let me tell you, that was _not_ a pretty sight."

I fail to give her the pointed look I initially aimed for, and end up laughing. Hard. "Thank Merlin you're my cousin, or else I _really_ wouldn't bother to communicate with the likes of you."

"You're _delusional_. I swear, your top marks might fool the rest of the world, but to me you'll always remain Rose, The Girl Who Couldn't Look Further Than Her Own Obstinacy And Therefore Didn't Want Scorpius Malfoy," Lily states matter-of-factly, inspecting her red nail polish.

In response I childishly stick my tongue out to her. "Keep it up and I might consider not telling you _anything_."

She pretends to zip her mouth and stays silent.

Perfect.

"Where was I..." I think for a moment, recalling the afternoon. "Oh, yes, the pictures. So we had to go into this photo boot where – prepare – he dropped a small kiss on my _forehead_."

Now that the words have finally left my mouth, it actually feels kind of nice to talk about it.

I mean, talking to a fellow teenage girl just might give me more insight on the situation.

Not to mention Lily is currently staring at me like my hair has suddenly gone blonde.

(Which, as we all know, will _never_ happen.)

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"I kid you not, sweet cousin of mine," I shake my head. "I'm dead serious."

"That's like, the strangest thing I've ever heard!" Lily regards me with a flabbergasted look. "I mean, I even overheard Violetta complaining about his total lack of sweetness once!"

At the mention of Violetta my good mood evaporates with exhilarating speed.

"Well, that's too bad for her, isn't it?" I bite out with my nose up in the air. "It's _her_ choice to stick with that bastard, so it's her own fault that she has deal with his horrible antics!"

Lily's expression strongly looks like...

Is that _smugness_ I detect?

"Speaking of the devil," she whispers, nodding upwards to the upper edge of the moving stairs.

I gulp.

Because, this very moment, I am facing the scene of a _grinning_ Malfoy with a _chuckling_ Stephano from afar. There they are standing, on top of a swirling stair, both impressive and outstandingly good-looking in their tall forms and respectively pale and tanned glory. My heart skips a beat when they become of aware of our presence and turn to look down at us.

"You know," Lily grazes her chin with her fingers thoughtfully, while following their descending movements with her eyes. "On second thoughts I must admit that Stephano _definitely_ holds some potential. The boy is _gorgeous_."

"I know," I smile.

Malfoy and Stephano step down from the last stile and make their way towards us. From what my vision tells me, they're back to buddy buddy's again. I briefly wonder what prompted them to make up.

"Good evening, ladies," Stephano greets us charmingly, all smiles.

Malfoy merely nods to both of us, as a sign of recognition. I suppose this is a step forwards.

"Good evening," Lily sticks out her elegant hand, bedazzling Stephano with one of her killer beams. "You must be Stephano, right? I've heard _so_ much about you!"

Malfoy lifts an amused eyebrow at her performance.

I oblige him to shut up with an intense gaze.

"Oh, did you?" Stephano asks, inching closer to me. "From Rose, I hope?"

I shift my intense gaze from Malfoy to Lily.

"Of _course_," Lily replies, understanding the message. "She can't shut up about you!"

Stephano's face visibly brightens.

"Great! Um, by the way, can I talk to you for a second, Rose?" He looks at me tenderly.

I swallow my inner guilt. "Sure. I'll see you later, Lily."

"Okay, bye!" Lily greets cheerfully, pulling Malfoy along with her.

I watch their figures fade into the darkness of the corridor, when Stephano suddenly pulls me into an empty class room. Hogwarts is stacked with empty class rooms. It's almost like they _encourage_ their students to have unexpected, impulsive, passionate encounters on school desks.

Just saying...

"Friends again?" is the first thing I say when I've recovered from surprise, doing my best to sound casual.

This time, Stephano doesn't look suspicious at all. In fact, he looks quite content. "Yeah. Felt too awkward not to talk to each other. And I realize that the weakness I thought he harboured for you was simply an illusion, since he has an official girlfriend now."

Wait.

_What_?  


All air has sufficiently escaped my lungs for a few seconds.

"What do you mean?" I manage to peep, not really wanting to know.

"Oh, just Violetta again. They decided to give it another try, I guess."

Violetta.

Violetta _bloody_ Chang.

You know, the one I caught, red-handed, underneath Malfoy? The one that turns our entire female race into an insult, with the way she puts up with his behaviour? The one with the endless legs and amber, bewitching eyes and bronzed skin and shiny raven hair?

"No fucking way," I mumble under my breath. "When did this happen?"

"I don't know," Stephano shrugs carelessly. "She sent him a love letter or something."

Just _why_ is it that I'm suddenly feeling so dejected?

Just _why_ is it that I somehow care about some bastard's love life?

Can _somebody_ explain this to me, _please_?

Because, I swear to Merlin, _I_ wouldn't know why this rejection bestows upon my shoulders, like a ton of obese people doing sit-ups on the sole capacity of my body's _sodding_ hall-stand.

"But that's not what I wanted to talk about," Stephano pipes up, while I try to recollect my wits.

I look at him with questioning eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Look," he sighs, going through his hair with hands, coming nearer. "This is not easy. But it has to be done..." He pauses, making me wonder. "I – I'm in love with you. And – no, don't say anything – I know you don't entirely return my feelings. I noticed. I'm not stupid. It's just that – I just want to know if, maybe, we could – "

I can't say I'm surprised.

But I can't say it bothers me either.

"You want to know on what level my feelings are reciprocated?" I make it easy for him.

He falls silent and nods.

I draw in a breath.

What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? Should I give him a chance? Should I tune out _both_ my mind and heart and just give it a shot? Should I forget all about the fact that I haven't thought him once during this whole, so-called fun afternoon and simply jump into his embrace as if -

As if I've never heard of Scorpius Malfoy...

"You know," I finally say, "I'm not going to tell you that I'm madly in love with you, because I'm not. It's not you – it's me. I just don't fall in love easily."

But _screw_ Malfoy.

Honestly.

Scream _him_ and his _damned_ beautiful girlfriend.

"But that doesn't mean there's a snowball's chance in heaven for this to work out, does it?" I continue, a glimmer of hope lurking beneath my voice. "I mean, you're all the things I could fall in love with. Handsome, nice, funny, talented, smart..."

He smiles sincerely. "We'll just take it slow then?"

Earnestly, I confirm, "Slow is fine."

_BAM_.

Startled, Stephano and I snap our heads around.

"What was that?" I ask, with a hand on my chest to stop my heart from beating so fast due to shock.

Stephano turns to me with raised eyebrows. "Strange, sounded like the slamming of a door or something."

"Strange, indeed," I agree. "Hey, look," I say, then, "is it alright if I go now? I'm tired as a girl could be."

He gives me another, reluctant smile. "Sure. Slow, right?"

"Slow," I repeat affirmatively.

* * *

I find Malfoy reading in the easy-chair. His legs are casually stretched on the elbow-rest, his fingers are absent-mindedly drumming on his knee. A few loose strands of nearly-white hair fall nonchalantly in front of his forehead, and I feel an urge to go and brush them out his perfect face.

He hasn't noticed me yet.

"Hey," I greet in a tone filled with uncertainty.

He doesn't grant me the slightest glance. His eyes are fixed on the book in front of him – a book I recognize to be 'Hogwarts: a History'. I am torn between the decision of giving it another try or just letting him ignore me. The thing is that, frankly, after our truce yesterday, I feel no need to chop his head off anymore. And call me naive, but I would've expected him to experience this the same way. In spite of his new official _girlfriend_.

I shuffle towards him, silently. Then, in an attempt to sound lightly, "So, Violetta it is, huh?"

I notice a change in his expression. His lips curl into a slight sneer, and he lets a sigh escape. Clearly aggravated by my presence, he finally looks up from the page. "Do I look inviting to you?"

"No," I admit uncomfortably, "but I just thought that – "

"That _what_?" He interrupts me bitingly. "I'd want to talk to you? Because, in that case, I've got a wake-up call for you. No matter how much truces we intercalate, I will _never_ voluntarily appreciate your company. So _sod_ off."

I stagger backwards at the venom in his words. It's been a long time since they've attacked me so viciously, so piercing, so _meant_. His eyes freeze me right on the spot.

"What's _your_ problem?" I manage to stammer, completely taken aback. "I asked a simple question!"

He shoves his chair backwards with much noise. "Are you fucking _deaf_? Sod _off_ I said!"

"I have as much right to be here as you have!" I exclaim, anger rising in my throat.

Where does he get the nerve?

_Where_?

If looks could kill, I'd be dead as a doornail right now. "Yeah well, then we've got a problem here, 'cause I really don't feel like seeing your repulsive face right now!"

This is unbelievable.

_Please_ tell me this is a _nightmare_.

"No, _you've_ got a problem then!" I'm not able to keep my voice down. "Because I'm not going _anywhere_!"

Malfoy's usually pale face becomes flushed in fury. He takes a step away from me, closer to the door, and bellows in a tone to match his face, "Why don't you go to your fucking _boyfriend_?"

I stop dead in my tracks.

Open my mouth and close it again.

So _that's_ what this is about? _That's_ why he looks ready to murder me in the cruellest way possible? Because he's abreast of the conversation Stephano and I had? But then, how does he -

The slamming of the door.

It was _Malfoy_.

"Why don't _you_ go to _your_ girlfriend?" I whisper, overwhelmed, stunned, inhaling deeply.

Pretty damn upset.

The previous colour disappears from his face. He goes to the door, puts his fingers around the handle, and chokes out, "Fine. If you're not going, then _I_ am."

His hand turns around the handle.

It takes me about a _nanosecond_ to react.

"No!" I scream with flaring nostrils, trying to calm down the turbulence in my stomach. "You're _not_."

Before he manages to push the door open, I storm towards him. His face shows a mix of rage, surprise, nuisance, and something else entirely. I can't place a finger on it.

But that's the problem, isn't it?

I can _never_ place on a finger on anything when it comes to him.

_Ever_.

"You're angry at me because of Stephano!" I continue yelling, filled with indignation at this revelation. "At least have the decency to _admit_ it!"

_Filthy hypocrite._

He closes the door again, behind his back, and is breathing hard. So hard, in fact, that I can feel his minty breath refreshing my face. It unbalances me. "Weasley, can't you just accept that I simply hate you for _you_? Or that I now do have a girlfriend, just like you've got a boyfriend, and – "

I refuse to let the words be released from his mouth.

I hit his chest with my balled fists. On the top of my lungs, I shout, "But you _don't_!"

My scream hangs in the air, and a thick silence ensues.

Malfoy's eyes are wide, and light, and flabbergasted, and focused on me.

Always focused on _me_.

_Damn_ Violetta.

"What do you mean, I _don't_?"

Yeah, what _do_ I mean?

"You don't hate me," I respond, a tad calmer, "you don't. And you don't fucking love your girlfriend either, so don't you _dare_ uttering something equally ludicrous as that aloud."

He looks frozen. In sharp contrast with his former tone, he brings out, "Why would you claim that?"

"Because..." I pause, lean forward, look at his slender chest, well-shaped shoulders, masculine neck, pointy yet aristocratic chin. I feel tingling creeping from head to toe. "Because you _want_ me."

As soon as I've said it, we both realize this is the time of the 180° degree turn. Bloody hell, even an _360_° degree turn.

His hard breathing fastens. I lower my gaze to his hands and see that's he's shaking.

He's shaking too.

Because he knows it. And he knows that I know it. And he realizes that, no matter how much he's going to fight it, there's nothing he can do about it. Because he already admitted it. He admitted it during our stupid dare and during that stupid club night, and -

"Don't say it," he warns me slowly, putting his hand palm against my shoulder to refrain me from coming closer. "You've got Stephano now, and I've got Violetta. Don't say it."

I try to gulp down my emotions.

It doesn't work.

"You want me," I repeat, taking in every little detail of his pink lips, "you want me. You want me. You want me. You wanted me when you were drunk and you want me now, sober. You _want_ me."

I close my eyes briefly, to withhold myself from tumbling over.

"And don't give me that shit about Violetta," I add, a bit harshly, "you don't _really_ care about her, Malfoy. You never did. You don't know what it's like to be in love, I _bet_."

The air he produces comes out ragged.

I never thought I'd see the day I'd be facing the ever-so controlled, impeccable Scorpius Malfoy with beads of sweat on his forehead because he's lost his cool.

I never thought I'd see the day that I'd be the reason for it.

But then again, I never thought I'd see the day that this realisation would deliberate me this much.

"Don't say it," he reminds me, but his words sound hollow and weak and don't mean a thing. "And, maybe I could learn what love is, _someday_."

I disregard his last statement.

Instead I sneak closer, our body merely an inch apart, and tilt my head up. "You know what the worst thing is though?"

He swallows visibly. Then, barely audible, "What?"

"Violetta doesn't even _matter_ in this case."

Metal grey and ocean blue lock.

_Intensely_.

"Pray-tell, Weasley."

I hear an imaginary clock ticking in the back of my head.

" Because... I want you too."  
_  
Tick_.

"I still hate you, you know that?"

_Tick_.

"So do I."

_Tick_.

"But that doesn't matter either, does it?"

_Tick_.

"Just a fit of hormones."

_Tick_.

"I bet."

_Bingo._

And in a fraction of a second, his lips - and every muscle - are on mine.

The world fades to black for a moment.

Because it is here and now, that I lose control entirely, for the first time in my life.

It feels like the ground disappears from under my feet. Even though my hands are clasped behind his neck, I am falling into a black hole. No, not a black hole... more like a passing cloud. I feel like I'm _floating_.

He pulls me closer, pressing me so close I am able to feel every inch of his defined body. His tongue trails along my lips, asking for entrance, which I allow unhesitatingly.

The second the tip of his tongue touches mine, my thinking snaps to zero instantly.

A jolt of pure electricity overcomes me.

The passion that seeps through me is something I never in a million years dreamt of experiencing. I kiss him with a fire I never thought I possessed, and I'm sure he kisses me with a force _he_ never thought he possessed. The sensation of our shading off in one another is so overwhelming it leaves me dizzy, and I have to use his solid form as support. The pounding inside my chest is so hard that I'm wondering if he hears it too.

This is indescribable.

Just a fit of hormones.

Just a fit of hormones...

"Wow," he pulls back for a second, regaining much needed oxygen, "that was –"

His lips are red and swollen.

With a pang I recognise the earlier emotion in his eyes.

Raw desire.

"Amazing," I finish for him.

And I kiss him again.

* * *

So. I MADE THEM KISS. Please share your sentiments on this long-awaited moment!


	17. Seventeen

Exams are over! HOORAH!

Thank you so much for all of your super duper nice reviews. I mean it. It was quite overwhelming, to be frank.

**Disclaimer: **the same as for the past sixteen chapters.

**SEVENTEEN**

Gasping in unfilled physical need, Malfoy's lips break free from mine. I part them in protest, wanting to ask him what the hell he think is leaving for, but I end up letting a deep sigh escape instead as I feel his burning mouth trailing hot kisses all over my jaw. He plants each tantalizingly slow, tantalizingly sensual. My eyes flutter close in pleasure momentarily, and when I manage to open them again, I am granted the sight of his stretched, pale neck. I try to focus on his flawless complexion to distract myself from the sensations his subtle but very effective nibbling achieves.

His skin is awfully white.

Just... just how did I not... find this attractive?

"M-Malfoy," his name comes out in puffs, no matter how much I tell myself to keep it together, "what are you- what are you doing?"

In reply he only descends further, lower onto my neck, sucking about every inch of the skin around my earlobe – _sigh – _and then he has seemingly found one spot that makes me see stars behind my eyelids. My pulse is soaring.

"_Merlin_," I pant, and press closer to him in support – my knees growing so weak I can barely stand straight, "how do you do- do all of these... _things_?"

So much for coherent thinking.

My thoughts have dissolved into one hazy blur right now.

"_You_ started it," his voice is low, his breath tickles my skin, "might as well enjoy it."

His tone does nothing to help my bedazzled condition, but I give it my best shot and turn my neck away. He looks up questioningly with heavy-lidded eyes, decidedly a darker colour. I don't say anything, simply start mimicking his movements. I push myself up towards _his_ neck, and let the tip of my tongue dart over the bottom of his chin, his neck pulse, the niche of his shoulder, underneath his ear -

"_That_," he breathes, "was _not_," he sucks in air, "the plan."

At one point, where he seems extra sensitive, I place my teeth in his flesh, softly, careful not to hurt him, and draw in. We are so engrossed in one another my heads starts to spin.

"Then what _was_ the plan?" I ask challengingly, shifting my attention from his earlobe to his perfectly sculptured features. I stare at the soft curve of his mouth which is strangely different in non-smirking state. Then I move up and connect directly with his visibly dilated pupils. If eyes are the window to the soul, Malfoy's soul is currently emanating a painfully obvious message.

Lust.

In a matter of one tenth second, he swirls around, swirling me around with him. Now he's not longer the one pressed against the door. I am – and I feel strangely less in control now there's nothing else but Malfoy's towering body and a flat wall. But the lack of security doesn't scare me.

Au contraire.

It only adds to the thrill.

"_This_ is more like it," Malfoy mumbles before attacking my mouth again. He hoists my waist up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his middle. Blame it on my hormone-muddled mind or the fact that Malfoy is, no doubt, to most appealing piece of candy I've ever lain my eyes upon, but before I know it my fingers are clutched around the bottom of his dark sweater. I lift it over his head quickly, with a tad of his assistance, and the second our mouths need to part seems like a second too much.

I don't know where this is going.

But I sure as hell won't be the one stopping it.

After Malfoy's sweater is discarded to the floor, he takes the matters in his own hands. He gets rid of my own sweater much faster than I did – _practise makes perfect_, I think bitterly – and he is in the middle of unbuttoning the first half of my Oxford blouse, when all of a sudden -

_BAM_.

Five seconds and a disoriented head later, and I realize with overwhelming annoyance that Malfoy and I have somehow managed to fall through the bloody door.

Quite a rude awakening, don't you think?

To worsen the situation of affairs, he has about crushed my body with the weight of the tumble and his masculine, tall body. Groaning, I try to push him off me. If my assumption is correct, all of my bones are damn well _pulverized_ right now. Malfoy merely lets out a displeased and diffused grunt.

I'm about to tell him to get the hell up, but then suddenly another, unexpected element in this lovely scenery takes form.

"_Rose_?" stutters my raven-haired heartthrob of a cousin. "And _Malfoy_?"

Oh, hi.

Fancy seeing you here!

At the sound of Albus' voice, Malfoy jumps off me as if I sprinkled him with nitric acid. Now I can fully take in his dishevelled state. Slightly tinged cheeks (certainly not from embarrassment – I doubt the boy has ever even _heard_ of that word), crumpled shirt, loose tie, hair considerably less in place than normally. My first thought is about how incredibly hot this boy in front of me is, and my second -

Oh _Merlin_.

Comprehension dawns upon me.

If Malfoy is looking like that, then what must _I_ be looking like?

"Oh, no," said boy speaks up hatefully, regaining his trademark collected composure, "it's professor _McGonagall_ and professor _Slughorn_."

Albus gives him a disgusted look.

I'm rather inclined to agree with him, really.

"You know," he says thoughtfully, walking towards me to offer me a hand, "if it were _anyone_ but you two, I would've said you'd been fooling around."

"Well, good thing we're us then, isn't it?" Malfoy snaps in a particularly hostile voice, barely sparing me any glance.

I huff in vexation while getting up.

Way to single-handedly gun off any hormones on the loose, dear cousin. I think you've eliminated them one by one. Drastically.

Apparently I'm not the only one in a foul mood, because soon Malfoy's arrogant, condescending voice rings through the corridor again. "And what the _fuck_ are you doing here anyway?"

Oh, hello, Git Malfoy, welcome back!

I missed you _so_ much. It was positively heart-wrenching.

Or _not_.

"Last time I checked this was still a free country," Albus replies drily.

"Is that so?" Malfoy drawls, a smirk starting to form on his face. "Oh, but wait! Tell me if I'm sadly mistaken, but didn't this school have certain rules about running around in the castle after curfew or...?" He deliberately lets his words trail off, because he knows this will rile Albus up.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy, no one cares about what you have to say anyway," Albus spits in return, balling his fists.

"_Tssk_, _tssk_, language, Potter," Malfoy reprimands, now with a full-blown smirk, "and sure people care. I don't know if this is too much for your pathetically small brain to comprehend, but I am _Head Boy_. Unlike you, I am able to dock _points_."

This is my cue to intervene.

"Children!" I exclaim, stepping in between a furious Albus and a gloating Malfoy. "Enough!"

Instead of awaiting Malfoy's reaction (I do _not_ feel the need to be called everything under the sun right now), I grab Albus' arm and haul him away from the blond prick, whom I send one last glower before turning around.

"So," I stop walking, and straighten my skirt and shirt in the meantime. "What do I owe this pleasure to?"

"I came to ask you if you wanted to come to the Gryffindor tower. There's a party," he's clearly still angry from a few minutes ago.

I put a consoling hand upon his shoulder. "He's a prick, I know. And I'll come with you."

"Good," Albus nods, and then frowns. "How come he ended up on top of you anyway? I mean, one moment I was muttering your password and the other the two of you just fall out of that room!"

"Well, we were having a fight again," I shift uneasily, "and, uh, I kind of pushed him and then he, err, turned me around and, indeed, you see, that is why we ended up falling through that door..."

Thank Merlin he isn't half as perceptive as Louis is, for in that case he would've been able to read the lies from my face.

I mean, it practically _screams_ guilty.

"You really ought to get on better with him," Albus informs me matter-of-factly. "I mean, I know he's a prick and all, but soon you'll be killing each other."

"Yeah, because _I_ was the one nearly beating the boy up just a few minutes ago," I snort, which earns me a pointed look from my best friend.

You have no idea, Albus.

You have no idea.

* * *

I am currently on my way to the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Next to me Albus and Lily are bickering endlessly, which is nothing special in their brother/sister relationship. I wouldn't know what the hell they're bickering about though. My thoughts are floating elsewhere.

Yesterday's party was nice. Your average Gryffindor party. Spiked punch, which they initially tried to hide from me, seeing as I'm Head Girl, but I'm far from retarded and after I told them this, they gave me this apologetic, sheepish look and offered me a drink. I declined politely, given my past two experiences with alcohol. People were dancing and laughing and playing around. Two boys hit on me. I informed them cautiously about my new occupied status, and they immediately backed off. Because they're Gryffindor like that. Chivalrous and all.

Where Malfoy got that idea of me not getting date offers, I do not know and I probably never will.

Speaking of which.

I spend the entire evening stuck between the desire of crawling back into his not-so-protective-but-appealing-all-the-same arms, and self-loathing for having done what I did. I mean, honestly, if you think about it, the cons heavily outweigh the pros. Usually, even when you just lust after somebody, it doesn't take you more than at least thirty minutes to devise more than two or three positive character traits. Malfoy might be a pretty boy, or even _somewhat_ intelligent from time to time, but what else? He's not friendly. He's not nice. He's not modest. He's not affectionate. He's not kind-hearted. He's not selfless.

Scorpius Malfoy is an overly confident, cunning, cold, selfish, insensitive, probably ill-bred, drawling, smirking, sneering, eyebrow-lifting, sarcastic, crude, boorish, and above all, enigmatic _bastard_.

So what is it about him, really?

_What is it?_

"Oh, _Merlin_, Rose," Lily breaks me out of my pondering harshly. "Could you _please_ tell this _pig_ on my left to simply shut _up_?"

"Shut up, Albus," I repeat dully, not really interested in the subject.

Lily becomes frustrated. "A little more enthusiasm wouldn't hurt, now would it?"

"I'm just..." A sudden idea hits me. "There's something I need to ask."

Lily and Albus instantly forget about this argument, therefore I quickly continue.

"When you decide to take it slow in your relationship," I bite my lip and resist the sudden urge to hit myself due to guilt, "what exactly does that mean?"

"As I deduct correctly, you and Stephano decided to take it slow?" Lily asks slowly.

I nod, confirming. "Yeah, but we didn't specify anything."

"Usually it means that the bloke is very determined to get into the girl's knickers, and, therefore, a little more patient than under normal circumstances," Albus offers.

Typical.

Lily and I reward him with an identical glare, but ignore him further.

"But, is it like, are you allowed to fool around a bit with other people?" I inquire, heaving a sigh.

"Oh, Rosie!" Lily looks at me like I'm the thirteen-year-old version of myself being scared out of my wits to fail a test – which _never_ happened. "Don't worry so much! I'm sure Stephano isn't the type to hang around other girls!"

Merlin, please Avada me now.

Is there _anything_ to ease the weight of a conscience squeezing your chest?

"I suppose so," I say, without having to fake the uncertainty in my voice, and those are the last words being exchanged before we arrive at the noisy Quidditch stands.

* * *

First Quidditch matches of the season are _never_ peaceful, and it seems that this year is no exception.

Unfortunately, the weather gods have decided to honour the reputation of the highlands of Scotland. It is merely drizzling at the moment, but the clouds are toned in a shade of dark grey. The odds are not looking too positive right now. In fact, the atmosphere is forecasting a downright disaster. A storm is on the loose – I can tell, and so can probably the rest of this stadium. It doesn't diminish the enthusiasm amongst the present student body in the slightest though, and cheers and yells are heard across the stands. Lily and Albus – two very impassioned supporters – have run off to the Gryffindor stands, and I have gone to my fellow Ravenclaws. It is, after all, our team that is playing, and even though I don't play Quidditch myself, nor do I care much about it, I can't help but feel a tad inspired as well.

Perhaps that inspiration as to do with the fact that both Stephano and Malfoy are zigzagging around in the air, but that's to be considered some other time.

"DEAR MERLIN, DID YOU SEE THAT?" Violetta screams dangerously close to my ears. "LOUIS NEARLY HIT SCORPIUS WITH THE QUAFFLE!"

Pretending that I haven't noticed this as well, I place my hands against my ears.

"Violetta, I _understand_ you want support your, how shall I say it, _boyfriend_," I refrain myself from snapping at her, "but you're still a _Ravenclaw. _You ought to stand by your own team, don't you think?"

The others, who are luckily mistaking my apparent peevishness for being a heartfelt fan, back me up and all send glares towards the partially Chinese girl on my left. She pays them, or me for that matter, no heed and keeps her stare transfixed on the fair boy floating in the air.

Because that's what he does.

Floating.

Since I absolutely don't give two cents about the game itself, I've been observing Stephano's and Malfoy's differences in flying. Of course, Stephano is a seeker whereas Malfoy is a Beater (beyond ironic – Malfoy _protecting_ others?), which directly results in other ways to approach the pitch. But there are more differences. Stephano is more of a reckless flyer – with impulsive decisions and sudden movements. Malfoy, on the other hand, seems more the type to calculate every single lift of his broom. He's the intelligent player, while Stephano throws in his heart.

I couldn't say which one I prefer.

I try not to ponder over the dubious meanings of that thought.

They share obvious similarities as well. Aside from the fact that their _Slytherin-ness_ shines out when they're on the field ("use every dirty trick in the book, morals be damned"), they also seem to become one with their environment. They sit on that broom with clear belief and determination speaking from the way they hold onto it, and there will be _no one_ doubting that they belong on that spot.

"Merlin," the giggly sigh of the girl on my right interrupts my thoughts. "Stephano is looking _so_ fine on that broom!"

Aren't Ravenclaws presumed to be _smart_ and _not_ artificial?

"Well, that hardly matters for you, does it?" I spit, facing a drooling Rosalind Burrow, cheap cow extraordinaire.

Not that I actually feel threatened, but come on.

Show me some respect here!

"Hmm," she completely ignores me. "He's not the only one though. I mean, would you look at _Scorpius_ today?"

I cannot believe the nerve of this girl!

(With what Violetta standing in hearing reach and all.)

"Shut your bloody trap, Rosalind," the Girlfriend scowls, and for once I'm inclined to agree with her. "You're not in the position to be interested in _either_ of them."

"I second that," I add, and we share a look.

Rosalind still wears her happy, stupid face as her light blue eyes glitter in mischief. I know she's about to crack another dumb comment, when an overwhelmingly loud, familiar, male voice startles us all out of our wits.

"WEASLEY, VIOLETTA, WACHT OUT!"

Flabbergasted, I register the figure of Malfoy racing past us, barely an inch away from smacking our noses off. I blink, once, twice, and then turn to Violetta to ask what the hell that was. But I hear her shrieking before I get the chance, and staggered once again, I find that Malfoy is currently doing his utmost best to stay straight on his broom, apparently experiencing difficulties after his bizarre, incredibly fast movement.

"What was that?" I utter eventually, when he seems a little more stable.

Still with that astonished look etched on her face, Violetta turns to me. "I think there was a Bludger coming our way."

"You _think_?" Rosalind squeals with awed eyes. "It would've broken both of your faces beyond repair if it weren't for Malfoy!"

"Oh _Merlin_!" Violetta exclaims, swooning, happiness taking over her shocked expression and clearly forgetting all about Rosalind's earlier behaviour. "That is _so_ romantic! He just _rescued_ me! This time our relationship is _sooo_ going to work!"

And the next thing she does catches me completely off guard.

She throws her arms around me in squeezes me in an ecstatic embrace.

"Good for you, Violetta," I snap my eyes shut, patting her back guiltily. "Good for you."

And I know I'm only hugging her back because it was _my_ name he yelled out first.

* * *

A POLL: should I up the rating or not? Please do share your thoughts. Until next time!


	18. Eighteen

I've been hit with a writer's block.  
Forgive me this horrible transition chapter.

As for the rating, I still haven't decided yet. I'll see for next chapter (which, honestly, will be LOADS more interesting than this one.) But thanks for giving your opinion anyway.

**Disclaimer: **don't own. La la la.

**EIGHTEEN  
**

"Good afternoon, all."

I clear my throat loudly as 24 pair of eyes watch me intently. I am standing in front of a classroom filled with all the prefects of Hogwarts, among which Louis, Lily, my little brother Hugo, and, of course, Stephano 'lets-take-it-slow-whatever-that-might-mean' Zabini. He's the only one not gaping at me in curiosity, since I already told him about the themed feast before. Instead he is staring at me – how shall I put it? – quite lovingly.

I'd return the favour, but I'm too rattled about something else.

"As you can see, the spot next to me is vacant," I continue in a very annoyed tone. "However, I suggest we start without our beloved Head Boy."

Because, honestly.

He's not _that_ relevant.

"You can't really do that, Rose," Hugo points out, ruffling his brown curls. His eyes clearly tell me to put personal grudges behind me for the sake of school matters. I hate the way he makes me feel as if _I'm_ the younger one. Whereas I exclusively inherited my mother's lack of enthusiasm for Quidditch, curls, intelligence (and therefore academic interest) and straight nose, Hugo has much more of her in him. In fact, if it weren't for his freckles, you'd wonder if he really is dad's child.

I mean, he's so frustratingly rational and calm it is truly bothersome.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but he and Malfoy would make a terrific pair.

At the thought of them ensemble, I grit my teeth. "Well, he can't really show up late on a meeting he called himself either, can he?"

"She's right," Myriam Bones, fifth year Hufflepuff prefect, backs me up. "It's Thursday evening. It's not like we haven't got better things to do!"

"Splendid commitment there, Bones," Stephano drawls sarcastically, sounding uncannily much like Malfoy and reminding me just _why_ exactly they are best friends. "He'll be there in a minute. Relax."

I'm about to shoot him a stony glare, when a familiar feminine giggle breaks me out of my upcoming irritation. It comes from outside the door, and if I'm not mistaken, it's originated from -

"Thank you, Stephano," says an amused Malfoy, sauntering in the room with characteristic nonchalance and superiority, and a beaming Violetta in his wake.

I shudder momentarily when I think about what she could possibly be beaming about.  


I do _not_ want to know.

It is not that long ago since I was granted the visuals of him and her moaning and panting and writhing and -

_Ugh_.

You get the picture.

"Hello Violetta," I greet with forced politeness, deliberately ignoring the blond prick, "what are you doing here?"

"I just walked him here, you know, to keep him company," she replies in that airy voice of hers that irritates me to no end.

Luckily for me, Alexandra Harper, a sixth year Slytherin prefect with a permanently bored expression on her heart shaped face, decides to speak her corrupted mind. "Look, Chang. You're not supposed to be here, so fuck _off_, please. Your boyfriend's late enough as it is."

Violetta visibly flinches.

Malfoy, on the other hand, simply smirks at the vicious girl. "Harper, everyone knows you're jealous of Violetta, but, _please_, don't embarrass yourself by being so blatant about it."

Have I mentioned what a cad Scorpius Malfoy is recently?

"Leave her alone, Malfoy," I hiss, more for the sake of my own vexation than for Harper's. "And Violetta, I'm afraid you, indeed, need to leave."

"Alright," she gives in, but quickly trips over to Malfoy, granting him one last peck on his lips. "Bye, Scorp."

_Scorp_?

Oh, come _on_.

Give me a _break_.

"Bye, Violetta," to his credit he has the decency to look slightly agitated at her clingy behaviour, which is nothing less than I'd expected from him, "see you later."

The second the door shuts, the room dissolves into a loud buzz of different voices trying to out-do each other. Lily and Myriam are commenting on Violetta's idiotic ways, Harper and the fellow Slytherin prefects start whining over the fact that they have things (or people ) to do, Stephano, on the contrary, has called Malfoy over to discuss I-don't-really-want-to-know-what, Hugo has initiated a debate on prefect privileges with the remaining people.

I rub my temples.

"SHUT UP!" I cry out, making them all jump out of their seats – except for Malfoy of course, who probably doesn't know what surprise _means_. "ALL OF YOU – WE HAVE A MEETING TO HOLD HERE!"

The aforementioned 24 pair of eyes stare at me in sheer shock.

"Merlin, Weasley," Malfoy drawls with that ever present smug expression. "Don't insult my intelligence by acting as if you're in a _rush_ or something. Honestly, it's not like you've got anything better to do, is it?"

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"As a matter of fact," I counter with digging nails in my palm, "I'm meeting up with Stephano later this evening."

Astonishment shatters across Stephano's face for one fleeting moment, but he swiftly masks it when Malfoy looks at him.

"I see," Malfoy muses, deceivingly innocent. Then, with an eyebrow cocked suggestively and without taking his eyes off me: "Are you sure she's not – how shall I put this into words – taking wrong courses, Stephano?"

My eyes widen to the size of a Bludger in realization.

My jaw has dropped to the floor with excruciating velocity.

Is he fucking _kidding_ me?

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Malfoy," I respond in a tight voice, fire blazing in my chest. "That's more up _your_ alley."

Tension ensues in the room. Stephano, who has obviously caught our insinuations, is looking from me to Malfoy and vice-versa with screaming interest. The others are imitating his movements, holding their breaths for what's to come. Fortunately, one boy is, as always, bright enough to cut through the hostile atmosphere and thus, refrain Malfoy from spewing some more dubious insults.

"This hardly matters, now does it?" Hugo folds his hands diplomatically, eyeing us all warily. "We're here to discuss something concerning _school_, not my sister's love life."

I sigh deeply, but straighten my back all the same.

* * *

"Sis, can I talk to you for a second?"

I turn around to find Hugo looking at me with an urge and a speck of... is that _blame_ I perceive?

"I'll go talk to Scorpius then," Stephano says, releasing my hand after squeezing it reassuringly. "I'll see you in a minute?"

"Okay," I smile, trying not to flinch at the mention of Malfoy's name coming out of Stephano's mouth.

How would he react if he knew?

Would he be the type to throw a huge tantrum? Would he start smashing holes in the wall? Would he bellow at the top of his lungs? Would he threaten to hex me with his wand pointed at my direction? Would he hex me altogether? Would he _cry_? Or would he be more of a silent, brooding type? Would he stare at me with disappointment written all across his perfect cheekbones? Would he merely walk out of the room and never speak to me again? Would he cut all ties with both me and his best mate?

I shrug off the uncomfortable pit in my stomach as I watch how Stephano and Malfoy exchange typical smirks.

"You don't love him, do you?" This is a statement rather than a question.

I try not to shrink under Hugo's scrutinizing gaze. "How can I? I've only known him for a few weeks!"

"That's not what I'm talking about, Rosie," Hugo sighs, making me feel like a little girl all over again. "You're not in love with him either. I _know_ you. You haven't looked at him twice during the entire meeting."

"Oh, come on. That _hardly_ means anything, Hugo," I protest, folding my arms defensively.

He shakes his head. "I'm not going to lecture you or anything."

"Then what _is_ this?"

"What this is, Rosie," my brown-haired brother drops his voice slightly, "is an attempt to warn you."

I tap my foot impatiently, feeling a tad put off by his secretive behaviour. "From what?"

"Don't use him," Hugo nails the hit right on the head, and probably knows it too. "I don't really know the bloke, but from what I see he actually seems like a decent Slytherin."

I gape at him, perplexed. "I'm not using – "

"It's not my place to judge you," Hugo puts a silencing finger on my lips, "but watch out. Especially for his blond mate."

I freeze. "_What_?"

"He breaks hearts for _sport_, you know," he gives me a meaningful look. "Not to mention _hymens."_

Then he turns around and walks away before I'm able to undo him of all those silly ideas he seems to have.

* * *

Dreams are funny things.

And so is guilt.

That night, when I close my eyes, I'm transported to a place I know all too well.

I'm in the middle of a dark common room. The fire in the furnace has extinguished, the curtains are closed. I take a deep breath, wondering why in Merlin's name I ended up in this situation. I explore my surroundings unsurely, careful not to stumble, in one way or another.

"Quite dark, don't you think?"

I shriek in surprise.

My heart stops beating for a couple of seconds before I'm able to react again.

"Merlin, Malfoy," I sigh, putting a calming hand on my chest.

I don't see him, but I sense him creeping closer. He doesn't give a reply, but puts his hands on my shoulders instead. I shiver swiftly when his breath titillates my neck. Then his fingers descend below, stopping at my waist, sneaking under my shirt. I shiver again at the feel of his cold fingers against my stomach, at the same time anticipating it and loathing it, a little voice in the back of my head telling me that this is wrong.

This is wrong...

"Don't think so much, Weasley," Dream Malfoy whispers, sinking his teeth in the skin next to my ear. "Don't think so much..."

The room lights up slightly. I turn around to watch his magnificent face, but suddenly -

"What are you _doing_, Rose?"

I shudder in aversion as I notice Malfoy's smouldering gaze transforming into the angry, emerald eyes of Dream Albus. He shakes my body with great force, looking at me as if I'm the devil in human form.

"I'm not doing anything," I manage to peep out. "You – you must've misunderstood!"

"Oh, don't feed me your little lies, Rose! Keep them for your _boyfriend_!" He spats.

I put my hands in front of my eyes. I don't want to see his accusing expression.

"_Rose Weasley_."

I immediately withdraw the shield again and look straight into the brown eyes of my Dream mother, whose bouncing curls are flying in the air as she shakes her head heavily.

"This is _not_ how I raised you!"

Words fail me as another form appears next to her side. My Dream father slides an arm around my mother's waist, a red face to match his hair. He wears the same disappointed look Mum is sporting.

"And Scorpius Malfoy?" He scowls. "Didn't I teach you better than _that_? I _told_ you not to feel attracted to him! I told you!"

I'm diminished to the size of a Snitch in shame. "I'm not _that_ attracted to him..."

"But attracted enough to _cheat on your boyfriend_?" Mum again. "Have you got _no_ morals then, Rose?"

I'm ready to cry, but then my parents dissolve into flames again. I was sure nobody no one was going to turn up this time, when after a minute Dream Stephano pops up from the dark blur I call the common room, dressed in black robes, looking like he hasn't slept in a week.

"Stephano..." I can't help it – a tear rolls down my cheek. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry."

He stares at me with hollow eyes. "You killed me, Rose. You _killed_ me."

_You killed me._

I awake with a piercing scream.

And alas, it is the not-so-Dream version of me that is currently sitting up straight in her bed in the middle of the night with a heartbeat at the tempo of the ticking of an alarm clock going off, reviving from a nightmare caused by consuming guilt.

Short is the joy that guilty pleasures bring.

I heard my Mum saying this once, but it is only now that I fully understand what she meant.

* * *

It is Friday, and I have classes to attend.

I can't wait to learn about new Transfigurations, or that Potions project we were going to start with, or those Arithmetical problems we still needed to solve... Alas, there is one, tiny obstacle blocking my way to fresh revelations and enrichments today.

"Let me _in_, Malfoy!"

I knock loudly on the bathroom door, growing more irritated every second. I can just imagine him standing there, staring at his own reflection in pure bliss, listening to the love songs the mirrors constantly sing, a smirk flowered on his features.

Great for him, really.

But I _need_ to pee.

Now.

"MALFOY!" I scream desperately, smacking my fists against the wood now. "GET OUT _THIS_ INSTANT!"

On the other side of the room, I finally hear a few noises. I press my ear against the door to learn what the hell is taking him so long.

"For fuck's sake, Weasley," his muffled voice comes eventually. "Relax, will you?"

"Oh sod _off_!" I explode. "If I pee in my knickers _you'll_ be the one cleaning them with your _bare_ hands and _without_ a wand!"

I'm about to Alohomora the lock, when suddenly the door opens and a tired-looking Malfoy graces my presence. He rolls his eyes in his usual high-and-mighty manner. "You're disgusting, Weasley."

Mumbling a few curses under my breath, I speed past him and race into the bathroom.

I'm telling you.

What _relief_.

"Almost done there?" Malfoy asks from the common room, still in that disgusted tone.

I unlock the door again, and come face to face with him. "Patience is a virtue."

He's quite close, now I think about it. He hasn't moved from his spot.

"Oh, this is rich coming from a girl who was nearly breaking the door just a minute ago," he retorts, glaring down at me.

I glare right back up.

But, Merlin, what's it with his eyes? They're full in intrigue, mystery, untold secrets. They also carry a colour I've never seen before – a different shade of grey, silver, even. It's so cold, yet an open invitation for new challenges.

_He breaks hearts for sport, you know, not to mention hymens..._

_I'm not that attracted to him..._

_But attracted enough to cheat on your boyfriend?_

I hastily rip away my stare to refrain myself from drowning. "Why are you looking so tired?"

The glare has left his expression to be replaced with something else I can't pinpoint. "Didn't sleep well – not that it's any of your business."

"Stop being so damn defensive," I frown, and when I look at his eyes again, I notice what I couldn't see before. "You were with Violetta, weren't you?"

He takes a step back, seems troubled. "What if I was?"

Yeah, what if he was?

He's got more right to be with her than... than anything else, hasn't he?

"I'm merely making a statement, that's all," I mumble, trying to brush past him.

Merlin.

Why does he make me want to bash my head against the wall time and time again? Why do I feel this huge, gigantic lump growing in my throat every time he mentions her damn name? And have I been reading too much into all of the stunts he pulled on me?

_WEASLEY, VIOLETTA, WATCH OUT!_

Have I?

"Does it matter to you, Weasley?" He asks suddenly, grabbing my wrists to prevent me from running off.

I look down at the connection between my ivory skin and his pale fingers.

How many times has he held me in the past few weeks, in one way or another? I mean, I used to be revolted by his touch. I used to think it was _infectious_. Like I'd get the Bastard Disease or something. I don't know. My loathing for him was _heartfelt_.

But now...

"I don't know," I whimper silently, feeling unexpectedly sorry for myself. "Why would it?"

His face softens for a moment, but instantly hardens again. "It _shouldn't_, Weasley."

Alright then, Mr. I-Have-A-Metal-Device-For-A-Heart.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning. We shouldn't be having conversations like these," I shrug off his hand and step further away from him. "In fact, we shouldn't have them _at all_."

"Exactly," he makes no further attempt to stop me again. "I mean, we both know that what happened didn't mean a thing, after all."

Merlin, I just want to grab a bloody coloured pencil and paint an upside down smile upon his face.

Could you _be_ more emotionless?

"You _did_ realize, didn't you?" He narrows his eyes slightly. "I had _half_ of the female student body, Weasley. It had to happen sooner or later..."

Congratulations.

Apparently you can.

"You sicken me, Malfoy," I hiss, no longer up to this endless, exhausting fight, and swirl around. I head towards the door to get out of this common room full of memories.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

"Give it up already." I come to a halt while putting my hand on the door handle when his voice calls out to me. "I don't sicken you. In fact, you made it quite clear that you were eager to – "

"Oh, fuck you, Malfoy!" I bark, cutting him off abruptly. "It was a _mistake_. If only you could stop insinuating things in front of your bloody _best mate_ who also happens to my – oh, I don't know - _boyfriend_, then we could both forget about this stupid mess and continue pretending it never _happened_."

I don't give him the chance to agonize me some more.

I slam the door in his face.

* * *

Next chapter: Rose is Malfoy's slave. Suggestions are always welcome. Especially sadistic ones!  
-Until next time


	19. Nineteen

Drama! Drama! Drama!

(I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.)

**Disclaimer:** JK owns. Alas, I do not.

**NINETEEN**

I groan in my pillow as deafening banging on my door awakes me in the most merciless manner I've ever come across.

"What is it?" I yell in a subdued voice, not bothering to tilt my head up.

"Wake up, Weasley," comes from outside my bedroom door. "Your services are needed!"

I slowly arise from my comfortable state, scowling. "What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"Oh, don't you _remember_?" I can simply _feel_ his unpleasant smirk ringing through his tone. He's probably _gloating_ in pedantic smugness at the moment.

"What's there to remember?" I reply tiredly, not interested in the least.

"It's Saturday, Weasley," he reminds me superfluously. "You're my _slave_ today."

I throw my covers off me at the speed of light.

Just _how_ did I manage to forget something as _horrifyingly_ disgracing?

(Somewhere along the lines of snogging Malfoy, thus cheating on my boyfriend, and afterwards pretending it didn't happen, you say?)

"So, Weasley," he continues when I haven't replied. "I command you to get out of your room this instant."

When after five minutes I'm still too busy whacking my head against the wall, he grows impatient. "What about 'this instant' is too difficult for you to grasp?"

I open my door the moments the words have left his mouth. "I'm here, Malfoy."

My hostile expression doesn't faze him, as he's apparently too occupied checking out my attire. "I have a feeling this will become..." His eyes fly over my tank top and shorts, "an interesting day to say at least..." they eventually land on my glare.

"You're _detestable_," I hiss, folding my arms across my chest.

He arches an eyebrow. "Now, now, Weasley. Enough insults for today."

"And what exactly gives you the right to – "

He places a silencing finger on my lips. "You know _perfectly_, my dear. So let's skip the pleasantries and get started, shall we?"

"I didn't realize we were exchanging pleasantries," I mutter darkly, refusing to progress the fact that I'll have to do whatever Malfoy tells me to do until midnight.

"As opposed to what we're about to do, Weasley," he says, sneering nastily, "we _were_."

And somehow, I don't doubt the sincerity of this comment.

* * *

"You want me to _what_?"

I stare at the tall blond in front of me in disbelief.

"You heard me," twisted amusement is twinkling in his metal eyes. "Have breakfast at the Slytherin table, with _me_."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I suppose I'm not allowed to talk to Stephano either?" I ask drily, already hating this day more than I did before.

I mean, entering the Great Hall, looking as chaotic as I do (I quote: "You may put on some pants, Weasley, but that's about it. If you're going to my slave for one day, the least I can do is make you _look_ like one."), next to his side, looking as satisfied as he does, we sure don't exude the right picture. Imagine the reaction of my peers – not to mention _Stephano_.

"You're wrong," he points out. "You're allowed to – just as long as you make clear that you're there for _me_, and not for him."

My jaw drops in peevishness. "And just what do _you_ achieve by doing this?"

"Stephano won't let you play around with him forever, Weasley," he answers, putting the top of his index finger under my chin to make sure I'm listening. "The sooner he realizes he's dating a two-timing bitch, the better."

"I can't believe you!" I exclaim, anger welling up in my guts. "Who I am supposedly _two-timing_ him with, then?"

He snorts, giving me a meaningful look. "You tell me, Weasley. You tell me."

And that's the last of our ridiculous dispute, as he pushes open the massive doors of the Great Hall. I hold my breath for what's about the come, but luckily most students aren't up yet. I steal a quick glance at the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. As for Gryffindor, only Albus and Hugo and a couple of girls are present. The Ravenclaw table is equally deserted, with no Louis or Violetta to detect, only a Rosalind Burrow, who's currently shooting me questioning looks. I ignore her, and venture myself towards the Table of Hell.

I let out a relieved sigh when I notice not many Slytherins are there either...

... only to suck it up again when I see Stephano hanging over the Daily Prophet.

"Oh, and by the way, Weasley?" Malfoy sends me a sardonic glance. "I don't want you to tell anyone that you're my slave for today, alright?"

My eyes hit the ceiling. "It's not like I have any choice in this matter, is it?"

"Give the girl a prize," is the last horrendous thing that comes out of his mouth before we arrive at my death sentence. He immediately disregards me and sits down enthusiastically, next to Serena 'I Don't Know How To Spell My Own Name' Goyle. He flashes her a charming smile, even though I can't see what needs to be charmed. "Hello, love."

I roll my eyes again, dreading the moment Stephano will look up from his paper.

"Hi, Scorpius," Serena mumbles shyly, from which I deduct he usually doesn't talk to her.

Which relieves me – secretly.

I mean, she looks like a big, shabby, square block of... well, something masculine.

"Scorpius?" An all too familiar voice echoes faintly. "Why are you up so early?"

I keep my eyes transfixed on the empty plate in front of me. If I'm lucky he won't notice me.

"And _Rose_?"

Bloodyshitfuckdamnit -

"Hi Stephano," I look up, forcing a smile upon my unwashed face, scratching the back of my neck guiltily. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Well, it _is_ the Slytherin table, after all," the happy smile _he_ wears is obviously _not_ fake. "I'm really glad you've decided to sit with me though."

Malfoy coughs loudly.

Ah.

Stab me with a knife. And do it quick.

"Oh, err, yeah, but, err, here's the thing," I cannot believe I'm _stuttering_. "I'm sort of here for, eh, Malfoy."

He snorts, completely unconvinced. "Uhu, I'm sure."

"I really am!" Unfortunately. "I mean, I..." an idea hits me, "we've been behind on our scheme concerning the themed feast and all, you see."

Merlin, I think I've just even persuaded _myself_.

"You are?" Stephano blinks.

Then Malfoy speaks up, "We are."

I'm about to feel grateful, when Stephano decided to ruin it all with a scrutinizing look. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Like what?" I ask innocently.

Like a homeless person, _that's_ what.

"Coffee?" Malfoy interrupts needlessly, clearly revelling in the misery caused by him.

I glare at him subtly. "Will I need it?"

"Definitely," Malfoy confirms, smirking.

Stephano looks from one to the other with questioning eyes. "What will you need it for?"

"Hardcore organisations for the themed feast," Malfoy explains matter-of-factly, taking a sip from his cup.

Black coffee to match his soul, you say?

"Oh," Stephano turns to me, looking quite disappointed all of a sudden. "Oh. I thought you didn't have time?"

The memory washes over me. I told him so a few days ago, when he asked me on a date to Hogsmeade.

I sigh. "Well, yeah, that was reason. You know how this duty stuff goes..."

"Yeah, I know. " He doesn't smile though. "Hey, I think I'm going to go."

"Alright, mate." Malfoy and Stephano bump their knuckles against each other in a very manly manner. "Cheers."

Then Stephano comes over to me and gives me a quick kiss on my lips. I wait for the speeding of heartbeat, but nothing comes, and a bit frustrated I pull back. "Bye."

"Bye, Rose."

And with a humourless grin, Stephano leaves the two of us alone.

* * *

"I'm wearing _flip-flops_, Malfoy!" I yell out with my hands firmly stuck on my hips. "Flip-flops, the low-waist jeans _you_ made me wear for _Merlin_ knows what reason, the same white tank top I _slept_ in, and _your_ old _Slytherin_ sweater!"

Which is no lie, by the way.

Even the last part.

"Your point?" Malfoy just keeps on walking, not bothered in the least.

"My point?" I screech hysterically. "My _point_?"

Malfoy rolls his eyes.

"My point, is that you want to go to _Hogsmeade_, Malfoy," I rant on, "Hogsmeade! Everyone will be there! Everyone will _laugh_ at me!'

"That's kind of the purpose, isn't it?" Malfoy lifts an eyebrow.

We arrive at Hogsmeade, and I brace myself for what's to come. I trail behind him, as he doesn't even look at me anymore. He is focalized on a piece of parchment he's holding. I stand on the tip of my toes to read along with him, and before he snatches it away, I manage to see it's a list of books.

"What's your plan, Malfoy?" I ask suspiciously, through squinted eyes.

He simply shrugs, enjoying the fact that for once he knows something I don't. I huff grumpily, but when he comes to a halt in front of my favourite shop – Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop – I become somewhat happier.

"Come on," he says, before opening the old door.

I gladly tag along, following him into the big, dusty store. When my parents were young, they only sold quills and such in here, but now they sell books as well. Needless to say, I've spent hours in this place over my Hogwarts years.

"Here, Weasley," Malfoy hands me a big book.

I take it, frowning. "Why are you giving this me?"

"To hold it, of course," he eyes me like I'm the dumbest person he's ever come across.

My frown deepens.

But it could always be worse, right?

* * *

Or not, so I've learned thirty minutes later.

"Miss, can I help you?" A friendly-looking salesclerk pops up from nowhere. "Isn't that a bit much, what you're carrying?"

What I'm carrying, my dear friends, is the weight of _ten, five hundred pages books_.

"Oh, no, she doesn't," Malfoy immediately intervenes, warning me with his eyes. "See, the thing is, I have this pain in my shoulder, and she _really_ wanted to help me."

"But that doesn't mean I can't help her, can I?" The salesclerk asks, scoring a few thousand points in my regard of him.

"Well, it does. She desperately needs to work out anyway, so..." Malfoy comments like the bastards he is, taxing my figure with distaste.

The salesclerk's eyebrows shoot upwards. I was just about to say how belittling this is – to myself, naturally, since I'm not allowed to speak my mind anymore – when I notice all of the other stares we're attracting.

Stares, unfortunately, from students I happen to know.

"Is he serious?" The salesclerk implores, turned to me again.

I know I have no choice. "Yes, he is."

"You _really_ think you need to work out?" He seems sincerely surprised.

I contain myself. "Yes."

"She's a tad obsessed with me, you know," Malfoy takes over in a very confiding tone. "Thinks I'll show interest in her when she does things like this for me. Really dumb... But hey, what's a man got to do, right?"

I was just planning on pressing my hands against my ears, when suddenly a familiar face becomes apparent in the people shattered on our left and right.

I gulp.

This can't be true.

_Please_ let this be a figment of my overactive imagination.

"Shit, Malfoy," my voice comes out raspy, uneasy, as if I have a hard time speaking. "Shut up."

"Oh, no, I don't think I will," he quips up, completely unaware of the problem yet. "What should I – oh. I see." His haughty tone drops immediately. "Hello, mate."

Stephano, whom I have never seen mad in my entire life, ignores his best friend utterly and strides towards me with fire blazing in his dark eyes. I'm about to duck behind a book rack when I realize that there's absolutely no point. He's already seen me. He's already seen who I am here with. Worse yet, He's already seen what _circumstances_ I'm here in.

One look at his otherwise so lovely features contorted in rage and I want the ground to split in two and swallow me whole.

"_Weasley_," he spats my family name like an insult. "Care to explain what the _fuck_ you're doing here?"

I try to look at anything but him, but the others things I see are even less comforting, as I notice the group of students surrounding us expanding every second. I even think I saw Violetta, standing next to Rosalind Burrow.

I take in a deep, ragged breath.

"It's not what you think," I say quietly, weakly – damn useless.

"It's not what I think," Stephano imitates me mockingly. "Bloody _hell_! How can I be possibly wrong about this? I can't believe this!"

I wisely keep quiet.

"I thought you were different!" He continues, every word louder and louder. "I thought you were better than all those stupid girls who fall for him _just_ because he's supposed to be good-looking! He treats every girl like _dirt_, and I finally thought I found someone who could look behind his façade!"

A collective gasp from the crowd.

I venture a glance at Malfoy, but his stoic face instantly drives me to stare back at the ground.

"With all due respect for my best mate, but I've never known him to be in love, Weasley. Never. How can you be so gullible? So fucking _naive_?"

"You read it _all_ wrong!" I manage to respond in between. "I'm _not_ naive!"

"Oh, really?" He laughs tauntingly. "Look at you! You're wearing his fucking _sweater_, you're carrying his books, you're following him around like a puppy, and you just let him ridicule you in the middle of a damn store! How is that not naive, huh? _How_?"

My fellow students start cheering. It's obvious whose side they're on. No competition. They all gaze at me with scoffing faces, point at me like I'm some stupid animal from the bloody zoo. I hear them yelling, and try not to hear their retarded remarks, their mindless reproaches, but no avail.

_Head Girl Rose Weasley finally off her high horse..._

_Always insulting us for crushing on him, and now..._

_See? She's nothing better than us! In fact, she's less..._

_Stuck-up bitch gets what she deserves!_

Humiliation.

It hits me like a bolt from the blue. It hits me so bad I want to mutilate my own body to refrain this horrible people from recognise me. It hits me so bad I feel like an obese sixteen-year-old would feel like if forced to undress in the middle of Oxford street during a Saturday afternoon.

"And that's not even the _worst_ part!" Stephano keeps on raving. "The worst part is that you've probably been in love with him behind my back all this time! I wouldn't be surprised if the only reason you wanted to be in touch with me was because of _him_! There! _Naive_!"

I reach my boiling point.

What happens next, occurs in a blur – a blur caused by tears I am not longer able to hold up. Strangled sobs escaping from my dry throat, I march towards Stephano. My primal reaction is to hit him, but I withhold myself and end up pushing his chest with unknown strength instead.

"I am _not_ naive," I bellow. "But if you want to be and believe all the crap you just spewed, fine! _Fine_!"

And despite the thousand other defending words that are lying on the tip of my tongue, I brush past him and the salesclerk and all my fellow drama depraved students. I dump the ten books back in Malfoy's arms.

Once outside the shop, I break into a run.

* * *

I have no clue how much time has passed since I've sat down against this wall, not too far from the library, when suddenly footsteps make me tilt my head up from my arms hugging my knees. I half expect it to be Albus or Louis, when -

"Merlin, Weasley, I've been looking _all_ over for you!"

I glare daggers to the blond in front of me, refusing to reply to this sorry excuse for a human being.

"Weasley..." he goes, more softly now, slowly sitting down next to me. "Are you okay?"

I harshly shove away from him. "Get fucking _lost_, Malfoy."

He frowns a little, doesn't say anything, but does inch closer. He does it subtly, almost invisibly.

Sniffling, I shield my undoubtedly red, blotched and hideous face with my hand. I am _not_ one of those girls who can cry prettily. I think that's more Violetta's thing. Personally I don't believe I'm able to make running snot look attractive.

Not that I care.

Not that there are people in this corridor worthy of impressing.

"Hey." I can't deny I'm surprised by how kind his voice can sound. "Look, I... I didn't mean for you to – "

"To _what_?" I interject ruthlessly, forgetting all about my miserable appearance. "To feel as degraded as I do? To become Hogwarts' biggest fool? To have _broken up with my boyfriend_ without me initiating it?"

He looks at me.

No sneer, no scowl, no smirk, no lifted eyebrow, no sadistic amusement.

Just... _looks_ at me.

"Basically," he whispers, and I hate how aware I am of the contact our arms are making due to our close positions. "But I swear, I never thought I could actually..."

A silence befalls us that's only interrupted by my hiccups.

"..._break_ you," he finishes.

"Well, congratulations," I try to snap, but it comes out a whole lot weaker than I wanted it to.

He calmly shifts so we're face to face, taking in my form with solemn eyes – eyes that look a whole lot different than I usually see them. Afraid that they'll influence me somehow, I cast my own eyes downwards and avoid his penetrating gaze, concentrating on stopping the tears from coming.

"What _is_ this, Weasley?" He asks delicately, putting an unexpected hand on my fore-arm.

"This?" I repeat dully, unable to refrain another drop to make its way down my shirt. "This is _messed_ up."

And then, when I finally thought he could never surprise me again, he wipes away the tear from my cheek with his thumb and _apologizes_. "Look, I've never done this before, okay, but," this are his exact words, "I'm – I'm sorry, alright? I'm just... It's that I've been so fucking confused over the past few weeks, you know?"

Scorpius Malfoy is saying sorry.

To _me_.

And I'm gaping at him, in total, complete wonder, asking myself why the raging anger I was feeling just a mere second ago, is melting slowly, like snow that's been exposed to a heat wave. Asking myself why I'm not strangling him with my bare hands, why I'm not ripping his hair out, why I'm not scratching his pale skin with my nails. Asking myself why in Merlin's name I've come to think Malfoy might not be the same person I always thought him to be just when I was convinced he was a few moments earlier. And asking myself why the hell my heart is hammering so hard I'm afraid the walls will start shaking on the same rhythm.

"I know what you mean," I peep, feeling incredibly exhausted. "The confusion is killing me too."

And it's true.

My emotions are on such a rollercoaster right now it's not even funny anymore. All I do is wondering, wondering, and wondering. I'm constantly stuffed with unsolved questions and it drives me up the wall. For a person who's used to know _everything_, this is not a fun place to be.

"Yeah," the Source of Misery sighs, covering my hands with his. "I don't know what to think about you anymore, Weasley. I still _despise_ you, you know that?"

I smile bitterly, my vision hazy through tears. "The feeling is mutual."

"But," he caresses my hands, "that doesn't stop me from," he leans forward, "wanting to do this."

He plants a kiss on my wet cheek.

And another one.

... and another one.

"What are you doing?" I murmur, strangely comforted by his frail actions.

The tip of his nose touches mine as he stops. He observes me closely. "Do you want me to stop?"

I stare at him in silence, enthralled by the divine beauty of his perfect face.

"Do you want me to stop?" he repeats, and the fact that he really looks like he would stop if I asked him to makes me feel warm all over.  


Just where has that fury from earlier run off to?

_Where_?

"I don't – no," I stutter eventually, "please don't..."

It's all he needs to take me into his arms again, into a firm but non-commanding grip, so different from a week before. I breathe in the mix of his cologne and... simply him, and decide to savour it. Because I'm Rose Weasley, and he's Scorpius Malfoy, and we both don't know where we're at. But at this point, I cuddle up in his protecting embrace, my defence walls crumbling one by one, and I want it to last.

I want this _safety_ to last.

"Merlin," he pulls away a little to look at me, smiling, "do you know that sometimes I feel like calling you _Rose_ these days?"

My breath hitches in my throat.

Every smile of his seems to have that effect on me.

I just want to bottle it up and pour it into a cup...  
_  
_  
"That would make no sense," I shake my head slightly.

He chuckles. "Does any of this make sense to you? I mean, I've _never_ done this before."

"Which part?" I ask, the corners of my mouth lifting for the first time today. "The part where you make a girl cry? Or the part where you kiss her? Or when you _comfort_ her?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," he mutters.

We do.

Because I know he's made a million girls cry and kissed a zillion more, but him, comforting someone? Now that's something I never dreamt of seeing him do, let alone _experience_ it.

"I'm tired," I yawn suddenly, a great weight in my head popping up. "Haven't slept very well for the past few days."

The unevenness of my breathing slowly fades, becomes steady again.

Malfoy moves again, and sits next to me. "Come here," he whispers, slipping an arm around my shoulder, letting me lie against his armpit.

I close my eyes, sinking into him.

I snuggle closer, all of my worries concerning Stephano bizarrely dissolving. I'm situated on a cold, hard, stone floor and still I feel comfortable, at ease, and a whole lot better than earlier. How can I remain mad at someone who's so unbelievably... startling? And how come someone so freezing cold 99 percent time, can feel so warm? So _fitting_?

I'm quietly drifting away, when -

"Weasley?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I really _am_ sorry."

I crack one eye open, find him looking down at me. "It's okay."

He smiles again. "Good."

And then I let the darkness indulge me once again.

I fall asleep on the rhythm of Scorpius Malfoy's thumping heart, cocooned in Scorpius Malfoy's muscular arms, with the image of Scorpius Malfoy's smile dancing behind my eyelids.

* * *

Phew. 4,000 Characters for one chapter. That's a new record for Chronicles. THEREFORE, I beg for feedback! Tell me your thoughts ;)


	20. Twenty

FIRST: a piece of shameless self-advertising. I wrote a one-shot. Very light and all. READ IT.

SECOND: I just want to say, just because I haven't got the time to reply to most of your reviews, doesn't mean I don't appreciate them. Because I do. Greatly. It's what keeps me going.

**Disclaimer**: don't own. Same as always.

**  
TWENTY**

The first feeling fulfilling when I come back to reality, is unfamiliarity.

This is not my own body odour. It is masculine, exquisite, perfumed. It is also not my own environment. The sheets I'm wrapped in are way softer and silkier than the ones I usually wake up in. As soon as my eyes get used to the dark and I can make out my surroundings, I know for sure that this is _not_ my room. In front of me is a giant poster occupying the wall – I can't see what's on it, though – instead of the desk I normally face, and the floor isn't littered with books like mine is. I dimly pop myself up my elbows, cautiously, and it is only when I venture a look at my right and notice that I'm not _alone_, that I realize where I am.

I'm in Malfoy's room.

In Malfoy's _bed_, to be more precise.

I'm about to scream bloody murder in bafflement, but then I see that I'm, fortunately, still wearing all of my clothes. The pair of flip-flops is no longer decorating my feet, but that's it. Everything's in order. Low-waist jeans, tank top, a worn Slytherin sweater... wait, a worn _Slytherin_ sweater?

I rub my temples softly to fasten the dissipating process of the wool occupying my head.

Last night's drama comes back to me, piece by piece. Malfoy waking me up roughly, him reminding me of our bet, which I'd lost, him ordering me to have breakfast with him at the Slytherin table, Stephano looking distraught at my rejection of his date offer, Malfoy dragging me to Hogsmeade, me carrying his book like a house elf, Stephano showing up, Stephano causing a scene, Stephano raving and ranting, Stephano completely humiliating me in front of many students, me running out of the store, me sobbing in the hall way, Malfoy looking for me...

Malfoy looking for me?

Malfoy comforting me?

Malfoy apologizing?

Me _forgiving_ him and me falling asleep in his _arms_?

Yeah.

The world has _officially_ lost all of its marbles.

Initially I'm a little confused over the fact that he has brought me to his room, but then I realize that he, of course, doesn't know the password of mine and thus couldn't have lain me there even if he wanted to. And I take it that he was feeling too friendly – for a change – to just drop me in the middle of our Common Room.

I look at the lump of his sleeping body, but his face is turned to the other side. Not wanting to wake him, I decide to crawl out from under the lovely sheets and brave the air outside. One of the biggest perks of these Head rooms, is that you have a balcony for each one. And an amazing one at that. It is exactly like the rest of the castle – old, unbalanced, hold up by magic – but that's part of the charm. What makes it truly special, though, is the view, and the freshness you can breathe in while enjoying it.

I walk towards the railing, put both of my elbows on it to support my lifted chin. As I stare upwards – the dark sky is sprinkled with shimmering stars – I can't help but start feeling distraught again. My life here at Hogwarts has always been pretty easy. Never any troubles academic-wise, the worst arguments I've ever gotten into were with Albus and Louis and they were solved within a week every time, I am generally well-liked, I am not hideous. Oh, and I've never gotten my heart broken. By Scorpius Malfoy, most importantly. Better yet – I've never had the displeasure of _liking_ the git.

So why have things become so... _out of place_ lately?

I mean, I got a boyfriend – a nice _and_ handsome one – and I cheated on him with his best friend. His best friend being Scorpius Malfoy. It simply does not make sense. Either part of the problem. And don't get started on my utter and complete downfall in front of all those acquaintances...

I heave a sigh...

... and then freeze up when the sound of a crack behind me becomes audible.

I swiftly look behind me and, to my great relief, it's only Malfoy stepping out of his room, onto the balcony. His hair is slightly ruffled, his clothes rumpled, and his face seems sleepy. It doesn't detract from his charm, in fact, in anything, it _adds_ to it. It gives him a more _human_ touch.

That's a funny thing, come to think about it.

The more I've seen of him this year, the more he's become an actual _person_ to me. Not some monstrous _machine_ with a pumping metal device for a heart. Whether he has a normal emotion span is still questionable, but at least he's not an _object_ anymore. At least I can just _stand_ here now, with him _next_ to me, sharing the beautiful sight, without wanting to torture him to death. He has yet to utter one word, but I'm sure that if he will, it won't be hostile.

Like someone has _taped_ our lives and put certain aspects of it on hold.

Our enormous dislike for one another, for one.

I break away my stare from the luminous sky and pop my left hand under my cheek to look at the boy.

"It hasn't rained for ages."

I'm not sure what has driven me to break the comforting silence, but I suppose it's an inexplicable urge to talk to the boy – as an attempt to discover what lurks underneath. I wait a good, full three minutes for him to answer, but when he merely gives me a sideways me glance, I continue.

"I mean, it _always_ rains here. Especially this time of the year. I never thought I'd say it, but I kind of miss it. "

It is so quiet I can hear him inhaling and exhaling calmly. At first it seems like he still won't answer me, but after a while he does. With his hands resting folded on the railing, he clears his throat. "I've always liked rain. Sometimes it just... sort of washes things away, you know?"

"Yeah," I mumble, letting his words sink in.

I _do_ know.

It's like those times when you're feeling like shit, and it starts raining, and foremost, you're agitated at the symbolism of it all, but in the end you still _like_ it. Because it matches your mood. And maybe, just maybe, when you're soaked from head to toe, and the dripping has cleared away all of your thoughts, you can start over. With a clean slate. When the sun comes out again.

I _know_ what he's trying to tell me.

And that instigates me to guess about him.

"What are your dreams, Malfoy?"

"My dreams?" He repeats, letting out a short laugh. "What kind of question is _that_?"

A bit ticked off that he seems to find it that ridiculous, I scowl slightly. "A _normal_ one, I should think."

"What do you expect me to say?" He arches an eyebrow, turns serious again after seeing my face.

Now I am the one chucling lightly. "What do you think of 'to shag thousands of girls before I die', or 'to gain ultimate world-power'?"

"Oh, yeah, _exactly_ that." His eyes hit the ceiling, or rather, the sky. "Honestly, Weasley. You're such an idiot sometimes. Why would shagging thousands of girls be my dream if it's already _happening_?" He gives me time to snort. "And ultimate _world-power_?" He shakes his head. "That's even _more_ idiosyncratic."

I'm genuinely surprised. "I really _did_ think you'd say something like that."

"Ultimate power drives people _mad_ Weasley," he muses. "When one never faces criticism anymore, one loses all grip on reality. It's psychologically proven. Stalin, _Voldemort_ – need I say more?"

"I think those two were both off their rockers either way," I cock my head slightly, look at his contemplative frown.

"Stalin was said to truly lose his mind after his mother died – the only person who criticised him. And as for Voldemort, wasn't it the idea of power that made him insane?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not." I turn back to the sight of the rustling trees. "But you _still_ haven't answered my question."

It takes him a while, but eventually comes the reply, "I don't _have_ an answer."

"How come?" Curiosity and bewilderment washes over me.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I have no dreams."

We remain silent again, because I know he's not telling me this to come off mysterious or cynical or enigmatic. To score some points. I know he isn't. It is truth in its purest form, and even though I would've expected it to, this doesn't astonish me as much as the former surprises he had in store for me. I brusquely realize that, after seven years of bickering and exchanging insults with him nearly every day, I still have no _real_ image of Scorpius Malfoy. He's always been an idea, a hologram, some sort of _abstraction_. He was the black to my white. In my mind, he was an uncaring, arrogant bastard that made girls cry. And I bet it won't only be _my_ mind. Because he _is_ an uncaring, arrogant bastard that makes girls cry – no denying about it. But there is so much more to him that I haven't discovered yet. That ninety-nine comma ninety-nine percent of the people he's ever met probably haven't. Scorpius Malfoy is a person made of a thousand different layers – you patiently need to peel off one by one, and maybe, just maybe, you'll get there someday. To the core.

Bottom line: _I don't know this boy._

And I feel strangely enchanted due to the fact that I'm standing here next to him, in the middle of the night, on a balcony, both taking in the same view, talking about things that _matter_.

"What do you live for then?" I ask demurely.

Our eyes meet each other. His mirroring mine – grave, sedate, firm.

"Lack of disappointment."

When he breaks eye-contact, I keep staring at him, at the glow of the stars lightning up the outlining of his profile, and it occurs to me that he does not have the looks to say things like that. He has the sort of untainted, pretty handsomeness that indicates all of the things I thought him to be – shallow, opportunistic – and all of the things he probably _wants_ people to believe.

I don't respond.

Because words wouldn't do this justice.

We lapse into silence, again, and the more I start wondering about Malfoy's different shades of personalities, the more I get side-tracked towards his best mate. Because, when it comes down to him, I don't _truly_ know him either, do I? I mean, yeah, he once told me he'd 'been better' because his parents wanted a divorce and his sister was apparently going to marry some huge git. But that was it. I never inquired, waiting for him to unburden his feelings when _he_ felt the time was right. He never brought it up again though, so it leaves me thinking. Stephano – or should I revert back to calling him Zabini now? – and Malfoy are both cads – one worse than the other, but still – who hold themselves aloof from any public display of _depth_. Now, the question is, how _meaningful_ is their friendship?

Because if Stephano knows the _real_ Malfoy, and Malfoy knows the _real_ Stephano, and if they _accept_ each other for who they are –

Isn't Malfoy much worse off compared to me in this whole messed up, triangle drama, then?

"He doesn't carry grudges, you know," Malfoy suddenly says, guessing my thoughts correctly. "Sure, he'll be mad for some time. He's got every fucking right to be, after all. But he won't hold it against you forever. He'll come around."

"Is he angry at you too?"

It fascinates me, inexplicably.

Stephano and Malfoy – as a mix, a combination, a concept.

"He told me to sod off," the blond says plainly. "He meant it, too. But he said it calmly, didn't start yelling or anything. I think it was more the anger towards you being vented on me."

Horribly unfair. "Which is only because he doesn't know what really happened..."

"Yeah," he agrees thoughtfully, "you're probably right about that."

I don't dare to look at him, now _that_ one specific memory has risen to the surface once again.

"But," he pauses, giving me a once-over, "aren't you tired?"

Now he asks, it hits me that I am. I'm drained, even. Both mentally and physically.

"Yeah."

"Go to sleep, then."

It doesn't sound like an order. In fact, it sounds bizarrely tender. And sensible. Completely sensible. But there's this protest is the deepest of my guts, telling me that I'll miss out on a relevant happening if I do.

"It's peaceful here, though."

"So is my _bed_, Weasley."

At this, I stop avoiding his gaze. "_Your_ bed?"

"You _did_ sleep in it before, didn't you?" He raises an eyebrow. "I promise nothing will happen. It's just – well, you looked comfortable. But if you don't want to – "

"It's okay," I cut him off. "You're good at pretending you're a nice guy, by the way."

"Born actor," he says, confirming, flashing me a dazzling smile.

I smile back, and then turn my back to him and the view and step into his room. I let myself fall into his satin sheets again, crawl underneath them, and take a deep breath, taking in his scent. I find myself counting the cracks in the ceiling until he walks in too and I feel him laying down beside me.

* * *

"Weasley? Still awake?"

An hour has passed, and I've gotten to crack number 129 by now. My thoughts have been too jumbled and all around to let me drift into a peaceful slumber, and from what I've made out from Malfoy's constant tossing and turning, he's trapped in the same situation. I look away from the ceiling to him, and find him gazing at me. There is a poking in my stomach, a sudden awareness of the fact that I'm in the same bed as the blond. I mean, sure – I realized this before. But it is only now that all kinds of... _options_ are occurring to me.

"Yeah," I whisper back, hoping for the sound of my own voice to revoke me to reality.

Unfortunately, Malfoy seems to have other plans as a devilish smirk appears on his face. "Am I the only one aware of the predicament we're in, or...?"

Great.

Just _great_.

Despite my best efforts, my pulse starts to speed up already. "You _said_ nothing would happen!"

He laughs softly, and then, "It wasn't going to, but then you just had to go and look all delectable, biting your lip, staring into distance..."

"Malfoy," I swallow, try to let his words breeze me by, not to progress them. "Stop it. I'm serious."

Instead of obeying my wishes like a gentleman would (but since when was he _ever_ a gentleman, not counting in last night?), he quietly creeps closer to my side of the bed, and in one second I can feel his legs touching mine under the covers.

"Oh, come _on_," Malfoy mutters as I nearly fall off the bed crawling away from him. "You _cannot_ do this to me, Weasley. You can't go all Hot Minx on me one week, avoid me the next, then let me feel guilty over something I otherwise would _never_ feel guilty about, sleep in my bloody bed, and then expect me to... to..."

"Act like a man and restrain yourself?" I finish drily, balancing my body a bit better now.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he rolls his eyes, "it's not like _you_ don't want it _too, _so why make a fuss about it?"

I sigh in frustration, and desire, and annoyance, and desire, and... desire. "I _don't_, Malfoy. I've just gotten dumped, and – "

"_Keyword_ being?" he interrupts harshly, so close now his breath is fanning my cheek. "_Dumped_, Weasley! Broken up, separated, split up, parted – whatever you want to call it. You're free of the duty of kissing his cheek now. There. Happy?"

He kind of has a point there.

I mean...

Was there any reason why I shouldn't...?

And Merlin, does he _have_ to be so near?

"And it's _your_ fault anyway," Malfoy points out when I'm too busy focusing on his lips to react. "Honestly, if you weren't so pretty then there _wasn't_ a problem."

Pretty?

Malfoy calling me pretty?

What happened to '_repulsive'_ and '_hideous'_ and '_obnoxious'_ and '_ugly as hell''_?

If I wasn't so distracted by the way his eyes are drinking me in, I would've snorted. But, alas, I'm consumed by the flame flickering in his grey depths. Bloody hell, there probably could break in a dragon or something equally frightening, and I'd still be too caught up to notice.

"I _really_ don't like you, Malfoy," I peep needlessly.

Of course, he doesn't pay heed to my objections and simply rolls over to pin me down. With his face hanging only a few inches above mine and his entire body covering mine, I find it harder and harder to maintain my senses. There is a small voice screeching in the back of my head, but it's getting quieter every second, and when it has seemed to have disappeared completely, I cut the knot.

I raise my chin to meet his lips.

And then, in one _nanosecond_, my logical reasoning snaps from level ten to twenty points below zero. I freeze, for a very short moment, at the intensity and the heat that lies within the mere contact of two mouths pressed against each other. When I relax again, he takes this as a sign to continue massaging my lips with his.

I'm glad I'm already lying down, or else my knees would've buckled.

I have no idea _how_ he does it, but in passionate encounters such as these, Malfoy just _radiates_ an ardour, some sort of _rush_ that I want to _drown_ in. When his tongue touches mine, my thoughts snap to mode non-existent. Like my brain cells are the hardware of a computer that has just _crashed_. My mind doesn't co-operate anymore. All I can register is... _freedom_.

"You know, Weasley," Malfoy pulls away slightly, all ragged breath and blazed cheeks, "you're so... so..."

Unfortunately, in the time that he needs to come up with a convenient adjective, I'm beginning to get my intellectual powers back. "Single? Yes. I am. But _you_ aren't, are you?"

Clearly caught off guard by my sudden display of true rebellion, he winces. "Well, no, but – "

"But _what_?" I roughly push him off me, not willing to make the same mistakes again. "That doesn't _count_?"

He looks troubled, and if I'm guessing right, it's because I've hit the nail right on the head.

"It's not _right_, Malfoy," I press the matter, throwing the sheets off me and stepping out of the bed dazedly.

Malfoy quickly struggles up. "_So_? What do you want me to do? _Break up_ with her?"

Standing up straight, looking at his flabbergasted expression turning into an annoyed one, I find myself at loss for words. Million dollar question, Malfoy. What _do_ I want? _Do_ I want him to dump her?

"Well," I stall awkwardly, "I don't know. I mean, maybe – _maybe_, yes..."

He shakes his head, smiling humourlessly. "No can do, Weasley."

_No can do, Weasley._

_Sure_ you can! You're just too _lazy_ and too scared to do it, especially because _I_ asked, since you're such an incredible, unbelievable _bastard_ and –

Merlin.

Just how terrifying _is_ this?

"Fine."

That's what I say.

Completely contradicting the upcoming nausea welling up in my throat.

And when I calmly leave his room, he doesn't call after me.

_So that's it._

* * *

La-la-la. You know the drill.


	21. Twentyone

So. Thanks, of course, for the feedback. I love you all, dearly.

BUT, there's a slight problem. The thing is that, I honestly thought I'd have all the time in the world during the vacation, to update and all, but if anything, I've got _less_ time now. I'm just never at home. I've written the last few chapters late in the evening, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to do that anymore. All I'm saying is that it might take me a week and a half instead of a week to update. But I'm sure you'll forgive me...?

Anyway, hereby I present you the result of two nights suffering of insomnia!

**Disclaimer: **no infringement intended. Or something.

**TWENTY-ONE**

"So, I heard some things…"

Monday morning at the breakfast table, with an investigating Louis on my opposite. With a cup of green tea in his left hand, he is looking at me expectantly. When after three minutes he finally understands the signals I'm exuding – called The Death Glares – he puts on his good old Suave Face and goes for another try.

"Rosie, _love_," he begins smoothly, "_everyone'_s talking about it, and – "

"No shit, Captain Obvious," I mutter viciously. "Kind of a giveaway with the whole Great Hall staring at me, don't you think?"

I'm having a bad day.

Needless to add, this comes as an addition to the former one, during which I camped in the Ravenclaw common room. I wasted six hours solving the hardest number charts in our book of Arithmancy to prove my skill in the intelligence department to, well, myself. With what kind of horrendous disasters occurred in Malfoy's room, I was bound to check if my brain was still functioning properly. The fact that Violetta wasn't there either was a nice plus as well, for it meant that Malfoy had absolutely no reasons for visiting the place and, therefore, had more or less a snowball's chance in hell of running into me. Good thing he doesn't make breakfast very often – something about direct connections with the kitchen – and thus isn't here to ambush me.

Not that he would otherwise, but still.

His insufferable drawl hasn't once left my head.

_No can do, Weasley._

Loser. With a capital L.

"Ray of sunshine this morning, I see," Louis rolls his eyes and offers me an apple. "Here. You look like shit."

"Oh, _thanks_," I reply sarcastically, eying the piece of fruit in distaste, "but I think I'll pass. Find yourself some better enticement. Like a bat or something."

"What the hell do you need a bat for?" Louis asks, taking a bite from the apple himself.

I smile bitterly. "To knock Stephano unconscious with?"

To make a fool out of me in front of familiar people is one thing.

Making me want to crawl underneath my seat due to murderous staring my way is quite another.

"He _is_ looking rather... angry, now you mention it," Louis nods thoughtfully, throwing a glance behind my shoulder. "But _if_ the rumours are true, which I'm highly doubting, he sure has reasons." He shifts his hazel eyes back to my face. "Now if only my best friend slash favourite family member could tell me _somewhat_ of what is going on, then _perhaps_ I would be fully, completely, entirely pro Team Rose, now wouldn't I?"

I wince. "What exactly have you heard?"

"Well, there was this thing about you running off with Malfoy behind Zabini's back," Louis says. "And about you being all desperate for Malfoy's attentions or something, not sure..."

Ah.

So here I am. Virulently trapped in a moral dilemma.

Should I protect myself, save my own skin, spread the same lies I've been telling since weeks? Or should I risk the wrath of a disappointed Louis? I mean – it's still my best friend in the end. Not to mention my own flesh and blood. I played _naked_ in the sandbox with this boy. I remember how I accidentally lost Aunt Fleur's favourite bracelet when I was seven, and even though Louis knew it had been me and he _adores_ his mother, he never ratted me out. He merely forced me to make a wager around which House I'd be in Hogwarts. I said Gryffindor – _duh_ – and he said Ravenclaw, because I would've gone straight to Aunt Fleur if I followed my parents' steps. I realize now how right he was. I always take the sensible way out – not just the _easy_ one, the _sensible_ one. And it sure was a wise move, 'cause when I did admit it to her _four_ years later, she nearly strangled me.

Never liked her that much, to tell you the truth.

Unfortunately, I _do_ like her son.

"Look, it's kind of complicated. I mean, Malfoy and I are – "

I'm about to explain some parts of the story, when suddenly all kinds of owls enter the room. In all the years I've been in Hogwarts I've never gotten used to the storm of owls rushing into the Great Hall. Maybe it's because every time it surprises the shit out of me, maybe it's because I simply don't like owls. Personally I'm more of a cat person. Much more interesting animals if you ask me – way more headstrong and all that.

"Looks like you've got mail from your grandparents," Louis comments upon seeing the boring, plain owl the Grangers purchased the day my mother got her first Wizarding stuff in Diagon Alley.

For ten seconds, I'm actually flabbergasted, but then a memory hits me like a ton of Hippogriffs. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

As soon as the owl descends in front of me, I snap the package away from her at the speed of light. I recognize it to be a Muggle magazine immediately – unmoving pictures, screaming pink colours, Scarlett Johansson on the cover – and also see a letter tied to it.

"What the hell would they send this to you for?" Louis asks curiously, disregarding his own mail.

"I have an idea," I reply vaguely, unwrapping the plastic.

The first thing I do is reading the letter my grandparents have written to me. When I've unfolded the piece of paper, a piece of neatly typed words become visible. With Louis leaning forward, I start to read.

'_Dear Rose,_

_We didn't exactly expect a magazine such as this one to arrive at our home, but we assumed it to be directed at you. We hope you'll excuse us for opening and reading it! To say we stumbled upon interesting revelations would be an understatement. Rose Weasley, you could've at least told us you've got yourself a boyfriend! And such a handsome one at that! We've gone through the whole article. Scorpius seems a nice boy, and we wouldn't mind having him over for dinner some time. Surely you share our sentiments? _

_Love,  
Your Granger grandparents'_

"_Scorpius_?" Louis repeats disbelievingly. "What in Merlin's name are they talking about?"

I open the magazine, check the index, and flip through the pages until I land on the one Malfoy and I are printed on. There we are, in both the professional photo and the ones from the photo boot, underneath a huge title yelling 'YOUNG LOVE' in red letters. Next to the pictures is the interview, and from what my quick scans tell me, it's quoting exactly what Malfoy and I said.

"Isn't that in _Muggle_ London?" Louis says, more as a statement than a question. "What were you doing with _Malfoy_ in that place?"

"Heads business," I answer distractedly, absent-mindedly fingering the page. "It was nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing," Louis raises his eyebrows suggestively.

I give him a pointed look. "Come on, Louis."

"Just saying..." he grins a little, and then points at the door. "Speaking of which."

I feel chills running down my spine, because I immediately understand what Louis means. I subtly turn my head around, and am granted the sight of a normal Malfoy. It is very obvious how much he has reverted back to his usual, old self – haughty smirk, arrogant stride, walking like he owns the place. Next to him is a Slytherin friend of his, whose name I can't remember, but I pay him no heed at all. It quite a peculiar thing if you think about.

Because now I'm gazing at Malfoy, and I'm completely _unable_ to look away.

Sometimes there are moments in life, moments which you don't expect, moments which utterly overthrow you with such force and intensity it leaves you breathless. It renders you entirely tongue-tied. It hits you right in your face like a bomb dropping from the sky – it's just _there_, all of a sudden. And it are those moments, you see, _those_ moments that provide clarity. Because they're impulsive and reckless and they supply revelations that come to you in a second instead of being considered over and over.

This is one of those moments.

Because now I'm staring at Malfoy, and _only_ at him. I stare at the way he carries himself, and suddenly all the rest of the world seems to dissolve into a mass of anonymous faces. I stare at the way he laughs at something the boy next to him has said , at the way his face lights up, and all the others students in the Great Hall go blurry – _everything_ goes blurry, like when you've been tired for a while and your eyes lose their focus. Everything except _him_.

And then – painfully unexpected – he looks at me too.

The moments extends. Instead of sneaking up on me and leaving as soon as it came, it stays put. Because I think I've forgotten how to breathe, and the throbbing under my ribcage has come to a total standstill. I vaguely hear Louis saying something, but I'm so trapped in the feelings rushing over me that all I can progress are a string of ineligible words flooding over in one another. All because there are signs of a careful smile showing on Malfoy's features – directed at _me_.

And now I _know_.

I know that I have mercilessly, irreversibly, transparently, unequivocally _fallen in love_.

With Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius _bloody_ Malfoy.

"Rose?" At the sound of my name I snap my head to my left. "_Rosie_?" Louis is waving is hand in front of me very energetically. "Earth to Rose Weasley!" When I fail to respond, he rolls his eyes excessively, clearly aggravated. "Merlin, have you heard only a _word_ of what I just said?"

I give him a blank look, totally gobsmacked by my own disclosure and thus momentarily inactivated. When I slowly find back the control over my vocal chords, I steal another quick glance at the magazine, then look back up and shake my head at my own stupidity. "Maybe it is."

"Maybe it is _what_?" Louis exclaims, fed up with my strange behaviour.

I calmly get up from my seat, try my best not to look at the Slytherin table, and take the magazine. "_Something_, Louis," I mumble softly. "Maybe it _is_ something."

I don't give him the time to answer, because after that I storm out of the room, ignoring all the whispering behind my back.

* * *

"Dear Merlin, she is _such_ a drama queen!"

Lily, who is about the greatest drama queen I've ever met, jogs up beside me after Transfiguration class and by the tone of her voice I hear she's in a whiny mood. Which suites me just fine. The more somebody else nags, the less I have to listen to nagging inside _my_ head.

"Who?" I ask, swiftly amused at her hypocrisy.

Lily huffs. "_Violetta_ of course!"

Aha.

Interest peaked.

"What is she being a drama queen for?"

Because, seriously. I've seen her cry a million times, and each and every time her distress had been caused by Malfoy. Her biggest talent if being naive. And _remaining_ naive. It's fascinating really – the way she voluntarily keeps playing one of the many female puppets Malfoy has on a string. I've always felt sorry for her, but sympathy is the last thing coming to mind right now. After all, I have admitted to myself that I'm in love with her boyfriend, and there's no point in denying now that I'd rather not see him kissing his girlfriend anymore.

So, not-so-secretly, I'm hoping she's all wretched because he dumped her.

Not for her being wretched (that an unfortunate side-effect), but for _him_ being single.

And for my _morals_ to be upheld.

"Malfoy," Lily unknowingly confirms my hopes, rolling her eyes.

"Oh," I say dumbly. "Did he dump her?"

_Please_ say yes.

_Please_ let Malfoy not be the cad I believe him to be.

_Please_ let me _not_ be one of those many female puppets.

"No, he didn't," Lily snorts. "You know him. She said something about ignoring and not feeling they were a couple, blah blah blah. You _do_ understand that I didn't _really_ listen. I have this mode, you see? Smile, nod, pat the back, pretend to be interested, make up an excuse and bolt."

I force a giggle that sounds foreign even to my own ears. "Yeah, I know."

He didn't do it.

I asked him and he didn't do it.

I'm severely disappointed, and I hate myself for feeling that way because I never expected him to do it in the first place.

"I really don't get why he stays with her anyway," Lily continues, not noticing my sudden low spirit. "I mean, alright, so she's pretty, but so what? I'm prettier than her! And so are you!"

"Whatever, it's not like he's faithful to any of his girlfriends anyway," I point out.

She frowns contemplatively. "You know what I heard though, from all of his fuck buddies? That he hasn't given them any attention since a few weeks."

Thank Merlin. "That's strange."

"Yeah," she nods. "Very strange. Especially 'cause the day he and Violetta got back together, he told Sarah Clearwater to meet him later on, but then later that evening he bailed on her and he never talked to her again."

I close my eyes briefly.

Could it...?

"You fucking _bastard_!"

Startled, I snap them open again, and find Lily looking at me with an equally shocked expression.

Surprised by the volume of the familiar voice, we exchange looks and then hurriedly turn around the corner. We both stop dead in our tracks at the scene we've stumbled at.

Stephano and Malfoy.

Facing each other in a very manly, unfriendly, threateningly way.

"Uh-_oh_," Lily says dangerously. "This looks bad."

I silently agree with her, as Stephano takes another step closer to Malfoy.

"You _knew_ I was serious about her!" He bellows, and I freeze in whatever movement I was about to make. "And you just went and seduced her anyway!"

I know Lily must be looking at me, but I'm transfixed on the drama unfolding right in front of my eyes.

"It wasn't like that!" Malfoy protests, sounding sincerely apologetic, holding up his hands in defeat. "I _said_ I was sorry, mate. I _told_ you – it was a lapse of judgement!"

I gulp, praying they won't see me.

Stephano, not buying any of Malfoy's innocent act, visibly grows more irritated by second. Anger radiates off him like a wave of heat. "A lapse of judgement? Which part?" He grabs Malfoy's collar violently, and I suppress a shudder. "The part where you started to like her? The part where you realized she wasn't so bad – that she's actually _pretty fucking gorgeous_? The part where you two met up _behind my back_?" He pushes his so-called best friend slightly, completely oblivious to the attention they're attracting. "Or the part where you _shagged_ her?"

Malfoy, who looks a great deal less slick and calm and collected than he usually does, stares at Stephano with indignation etched upon his face. "I didn't _shag_ her, for Merlin's sake!"

"And you expect me to _believe_ you now?" Stephano exclaims, his fingers curled up into a hard ball. He looks pretty much set to kill.

"_Yes_! It's the _truth_!" Malfoy yells out, desperate for Stephano to understand. "I never planned any of it! It just _happened_! Come on, mate – why are you being so worked up about this anyway?"

WHAM.

Fist planted in right the middle of Malfoy's pretty face.

Along with the whole crowd standing around them, my jaw drops to the floor and I gasp loudly. Pressing my hands against my mouth, I watch as if frozen how the unwanted objection of my affections staggers, and nearly topples over. He is obviously as perplexed as the rest of the students occupying the corridor. He recovers hastily, however, and regains his balance as quickly as he lost it.

"What the _fuck_, Stephano!" He spits, touching his nose cautiously. "Have you gone _mental_? She's not even _worth_ it! She's _not_ worth it!"

And now I feel that blow too.

Like someone has shot a bullet right through the centre of my stomach.

_She's not worth it._

"It's the _principle_, you prick!"

Stephano heaves his arm to hit Malfoy again, but even though I know he deserves it, something in my guts – the part that hasn't been shattered, that is – calls in objection. Therefore, before I even know it myself, I march towards the two of them and jump in between.

A bunch of 'ooh's' and 'aah's' coming from the crowd follow me.

"STOP IT!" I scream at the top of my lungs, astonishing even myself at the capacity of my voice. "IMMEDIATELY! I can't believe this! How old are you? _Five_? Five and returning to the _Prehistory_? Back to the primitives, or _what_?"

Another round of 'ooh's' and 'aah's', and even a few people clapping here and there.

"I _get_ that you're angry, Stephano," I continue, unhindered, now facing the tanned boy that's looking at me in pure amazement now. "I _totally_ understand. I'd be mad as hell too. But _damn_, what's it about you making all these stupid scenes lately? Couldn't you just beat Malfoy up in _his_ or _your_ dorm?"

And I'm not finished.

But then the population present quiets down remarkably, and when I look to see what's caused the sudden decease in commotion –

"Thank you, Miss Weasley. I'll take it from you here."

Oh.

Hi, Professor McGonagall.

* * *

Ta-daah. Review, and be nice. It's nice to be acted nice to. Pun intended.


	22. Twentytwo

Hi, all Thanks for the reviews as always.

So I was thinking, I always imagined Scorpius looking like Toby Hemingway, but then I got all addicted to Skins and I realized that Mitch Hewer (the actor playing Maxxie) is about the HOTTEST PERSON ON THE ENTIRE PLANET. For real. So do you guys have any idea of a Scorpius Malfoy? Or a Rose Weasley for that matter?

Anyway, for the next update, it might take me longer, because I'm going to Berlin for a week and I'll obviously not be able to write there.

**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns.

**TWENTY-TWO**

"Thank you, Miss Weasley."

The entire corridor gapes in anticipation, as a deceivingly calm professor McGonagall nods at me and then walks over to the fighting pair. The two of them mirror each other's expressions – looking like two ten-year-olds caught red-handed stealing a candy bar in some store. Only worse. 'Cause, well, it's professor _McGonagall_.

"From all of my students, you two getting in a fight with _each other_ is about the last thing I expected."

With lips pressed in a thin line, the aged woman comes to a halt. When Stephano and Malfoy simultaneously open their mouths to say something (undoubtedly to save their own sorry asses), she sternly holds up her hand to silence them. They instantly obey, and with uncharacteristic sweat covering their foreheads, they try not to make eye-contact with her.

I told you.

She's only gotten scarier over the years.

"Who," she pauses, lets her eyes glide from Malfoy to Stephano, "started this nonsense?"

Aha.

Million dollar question, you say?

Malfoy has the grace to look ashamed, casting his grey eyes downwards. Stephano doesn't look much different either, seeming terribly uneasy. For the first time during this whole event, I turn to Lily, and see that she obviously can't wait to hear what they're going to say. As for the rest of the people, it is basically the same. But I bet that the way they feel is nothing compared to the way _I_ feel – _completely_ uptight. Because it's not _just_ a question. It beholds much more meaning than that. It goes way back before this stupid, ridiculous fight. It's practically what this is _about_.

Stephano is the first to react.. "Well, it was – "

"Me," finishes Malfoy.

How... _Gryffindor_ of him.

I must say I'm surprised. And by the looks of it, so is Stephano. His face shows a mix of guilt and relief, but as soon as professor McGonagall turns to him for confirmation, he schools his features back to blank. He nods solemnly, and for a split second I want to blame him, but then I realize it's only the truth.

And it's not just Malfoy.

It's _my_ fault too.

"Good," professor McGonagall says resolutely. "That's fifteen points from Slytherin for violence, and another fifteen for supposedly _provoking_ said violence."

"But, professor –" Stephano exclaims indignantly.

"_And_," she interrupts him pointedly, "you'll be serving detention for the next week. _Every_ day."

Malfoy, who's fingering his nose carefully, coughs. "_Uhm_, professor, can I go to the hospital, please?"

"Of course," she replies. "Mr. Zabini, take him. And oh, Mr. Malfoy, we'll have to reconsider that title of yours."

I can't help but let out a disbelieving gasp.

"But – "

"No buts. Hospital."

And that's the last of it.

* * *

"I'm in love with Malfoy."

Lily slowly tears away her gaze from Teen Magazine, and looks at me with raised eyebrows. She's sitting in the easy-chair of the Gryffindor common room – where I'm currently residing – and her attention's been glued to the article from the underground for at least one, whole hour now. In those sixty minutes I've been trying to get some homework done, but no such luck. There like an echo in my head. A permanent echo. A permanent, aggravating echo whispering Malfoy's name over and over.

It's bloody nerve-wrecking, that's what it is.

"Well, finally," she says eventually, averting her eyes back to the magazine almost immediately.

Wait, _what_?

"Um, Lily," I clear my throat and snatch the reading matter away from her. "Did you _hear_ what I just said?"

She glares at me. "Honey, it's not like it's some _surprise_ or anything. Now, could you give me my magazine back?"

"_Hello_, earth to Lily Potter!" I shriek indignantly, rolling the damned thing up and hitting her with it. "I just admitted to be in love with my _enemy_ and _all_ you can say is 'well, finally'? Have you gone _mental_?"

"Would you stop that?" She inquires in a very annoyed voice. "It's just..."

"It's just _what_?"

"Couldn't you wait _one_ more week until you admitted it?"

I frown. "What for?"

"Now I owe Hugo five galleons!" She exclaims, sighing exaggeratedly. "I don't even _have_ five galleons!"

An inkling suspicion creeps upon me. "Don't tell me you _betted_ on my feelings for Malfoy?"

"Just when you were going to admit it," she shrugs, all innocence. "I mean, Merlin, it's _dead_ obvious."

"_Lily_!" I screech, full of disbelief. "You mean you both _knew_ all this time and you never said _anything_?"

"Well, you hardly realized it yourself, so..." she lets her words trail off meaningfully.

"I hate you," I mutter petulantly in response. "You're a twat and I hate you."

"Look," she puts her hands on my knees consolingly, "I know you're a tad ticked off and all, but could you please not tell Hugo about this? I mean, I really don't have those five galleons, and – "

"_Fine_, Lily! I get it!" I roll my eyes. "I won't tell."

She lets out a relieved giggle. "Oh _yes_! Now we don't have to worry about that anymore..." She pauses momentarily, then squeals loudly. "We can _finally_ focus on your future relationship with Malfoy and how to _achieve_ said relationship!"

"Now, please correct me if I'm wrong," I comment drily, "but last time I checked he was still dating Violetta, and if you were a good friend, you would tell me now that Malfoy is a _big_ no-no."

"Blah, blah, blah," Lily says dismissively. "_Whatever_. Just tell me the story. 'Cause there's no way on _earth_ you guys haven't done _anything_."

I give her a look.

And then I end up telling the story from A to Z.

* * *

Dixit Lily: "Honey, boys are more like girls than they like to admit. He didn't _seriously_ mean it when he said you weren't worth it. The boy is scared. S C A R E D. I mean, Merlin _forbid_ he _actually_ likes someone. Thus, here's the plan: visit Malfoy and take the magazine with you."

Dixit myself: "I hate you."

However, here I am.

In the hospital.

For Malfoy.

_Sue me._

Fortunately, Miss Pomfrey's is not in sight. She's the niece of the elder Madame Pomfrey who passed away recently, and she's exactly as controlling and neurotic when it concerns the students' health. Albus once broke his finger and he couldn't receive any company because of the nutty witch. His _finger_. A broken finger is fixed in precisely _five_ minutes. She claimed the visitors would 'distract his body from healing'.

I mean.

_Merlin_.

I find Malfoy lying down on the first bed in the room. My first thought is that he's sleeping, because of his closed eyes. But upon closer examination, I see that his fingertips are drumming on the bedpost. There is a bandage covering the centre of his face, and there are still drips of blood shining in his platinum hair. For some stupid punch he looks pretty torn up, but it doesn't detract any of his appeal. The sight of him does something to the insides of my chest, and it almost has me leaving again. I do decide against it, however, and inch closer to him.

"You're an idiot."

Those are the words I greet the blond boy with.

He probably had sensed my presence before, as he barely moves at hearing my voice. He lazily raises his eyelids.

"You think?" He looks at me from under a slightly arched eyebrow. "Thanks for the insight. I _honestly_ wasn't aware."

I regard him with cold eyes. "Your sarcasm isn't appreciated now, Malfoy."

"Is it ever?" He shoots back smartly.

Because we both know this is a rhetorical question, I don't bother to formulate an answer. I merely keep staring at him with an agitating lump occupying my throat. To give myself some sort of position that can take my mind off my clammy hands, I take a chair from next to the bed on Malfoy's opposite and put it down on his left.

"Why did you come to see me, Weasley?" He asks when I'm sat down, and I pray to Merlin that he doesn't notice my uncomfortable shifting. "I mean, is there a real reason or did you just come to scold me?"

I take a deep breath.

Moment of truth.

I could come up with a lot of things. I could tell him about the upcoming meeting concerning the themed feast. I could improvise all kinds of new ideas for said feast. Or I could pretend we're still what we were and tell him I only came to see how bad he was doing to revel in the thought later on. I could tell him I hate him and that I wanted to remind him of that fact. Just for the sake of it. You know, to put things back into perspective.

But I know better.

Therefore, I don't.

"If I wasn't worth it," I speak up with a hammering heart, "why did you do it?"

Malfoy, who obviously hadn't expected this reply, gapes at me. "Do what?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Malfoy!" I scowl, thoroughly annoyed. "Do I have to fucking spell it _out_ for you?"

"Alright, alright," he gives in. Then he frowns contemplatively and sighs. "Look, Weasley. Here's the thing."

I wait patiently.

"I've known Stephano since I was zero," he continues. "Straight from the moment I came out of womb. His mother's my mother's best friend. Our fathers never got along in Hogwarts but they came around eventually..."

"Yeah..."

"See, there was this time. I was five and I desperately wanted to play Quidditch, because it was all Stephano could talk about. He was constantly bragging about what a great player he was and all that. So I went along with it and bragged about all my skills too. But I couldn't do it – "

"Why not?"

Malfoy looks at me with an irritated expression. "I just couldn't.. Like I didn't possess any talent. My father didn't do anything about it, just looked at me with this disapproving face and furthermore said nothing. Felt like shit about that, you know?"

I nod. "Must've been unpleasant, I imagine."

"Then one afternoon I went to Stephano's, and I told him about my problem, how I couldn't get on my bloody broom. And he didn't just laugh like I expected him to. Instead he said he'd exaggerated too, and in the end he turned out to suck too. So we didn't waste any more time on our little lies and merely started practising together. Two stupid five-year-olds. We laughed about it like crazy afterwards."

It's as if I'm entranced by his words. It's always like that once he opens his mouth to spill something other than an insult. And I realize now that this _symptom_ has been going on for the entire year – that it's not something _new_. It started the day at the detention, and it has stuck ever since. Because even though the biggest part of what flies out of his mouth is vicious and mean or seductive and suave, Malfoy is a gifted narrator. Alas.

"And then there was this time, when we were fourteen or so, when we went to Italy together, visiting family of his. They had a huge villa, and everyone spoke with this funny accent, and they had the best neighbours. I mean, I never really met anyone living there except for the fifteen-year-old daughter... but whatever. She was damn hot, let me tell you. Everything I could possibly want. And everything _Stephano_ could possibly want."

I shake my head comprehensively. "I think I can see where this is going."

He smiles humourlessly. "Yeah. Thing was, he kind of fell in love with the girl... but she wanted _me_. Even though all I wanted from her was, well, not her emotional side, if you catch my drift. And Stephano was really torn up about it, but then he came up to me and said: "Look, mate, you can have her. Fucking kills me, but you can. Just don't do it again, alright?" And that was that. The girl and I made out, and afterwards I never saw her again."

"Tosser," I deadpan, a little annoyed by the reminder of his countless escapades.

"Who, me?" He asks, but then immediately disregards his own question after seeing my face. "Anyway. I promised him then. That I would stay out of his way concerning girls. Because I never really cared, and he _did_. So..."

"I get it."

And I really do.

Because, honestly, who am I to make him go back on his promise? He already broke it – sure. But I can see that Stephano is the one person he sincerely, truly cares about, and that he wants to correct his mistake. By making sure nothing will happen between us again. And that's fine. It really is. Sometimes you got to sacrifice your own needs (_does_ he even need me?) out of love for someone else. That's the way it goes. Friendship, love – it's about sacrifice.

But why doesn't understanding ease the pain?

Why does it still hurt so bloody much?

"It's not you, Weasley."

Malfoy looks troubled – he deserves credit at least for that.

"Must be about the ninetieth time you've said that," I muse. It's not an accusation, it's a mere observation.

He chuckles. "Funny, 'cause you're right. It's just that it's the first time I _actually_ mean it."

Somehow this only worsens matters. "Quite a predicament we're in, aren't we?"

"Yeah," he smiles cautiously. "I never really hated you, you know that?"

"You didn't?" I'm genuinely surprised, since I really _did_ hate him throughout our Hogwarts years.

"You just irritated the fuck out of me," he shrugs. "But now you don't anymore. There's something about you."

"There's something about me?" I repeat questioningly.

And would my sodding heart just _stop_ beating so fast?

"There is," he nods thoughtfully. "You're not _just_ fit. You're..."

"I'm...?"

"I don't know." He laughs softly. "Oh Merlin, I can't believe I'm doing this. What I'm trying to say is that – that you're special. And you shouldn't let this stupid thing let you down, you know? You're not worth my friendship with Stephano, because no one's worth my friendship with Stephano. But I'm sure you'll be worth plenty of other relationships."

But I don't _want_ to be worth other relationships.

"Why are you being so considerate?" I inquire, ignoring the poking voice in the back of my head. "It's scary."

"Yeah, I know. I was beginning to feel awkward too," he smirks, and the familiarity brings me back to the real world.

"Okay... Okay," I heave a sigh, and bow down to search something in my bag. "I've got one more thing for you."

"Pray-tell."

"This."

And then I hand him over the magazine. With the stupid pictures. With the stupid interview. With the stupid lies that seemed so hilarious at the time.

"For some amusement while you're here," I add.

"I'm free to go by tonight," he replies, while looking at it still with that smirk. "But thanks."

"Cheers, Malfoy."

I get up to leave the room.

"Cheers, Weasley."

* * *

YES. I KNOW. IT'S SHORT. But then again, I updated in a week, didn't I?


	23. Twentythree

OMYGOD. I SAW THE LIVING, BREATHING EQUIVALENT OF SCORPIUS MALFOY AND ROSE WEASLEY ON THE TUBE IN BERLIN. Like, for real. It was a blond, waaayyy too fit boy (a mix between Mitch Hewer and Toby Hemingway – I'm not lying, let me assure you), and a very beautiful girl with freckles and red hair and curls – as a couple. THAT WAS MY SIGN, PPL. I'LL BE A ROSE/SCORPIUS SHIPPER FOR LIFE!

Phew.

(Berlin was nice, by the way. Not as nice as, say, London – b/c nothing's as nice as London, or Barcelona, but still. Great.)

Anyway, sorry for the delay and all that. Thank you for being patient with me!

**Disclaimer: **no copy infringement intended (or something like that.) JK Rowling powns! (Or so would say the gaming geeks. Which I by no means am.)

**TWENTY-THREE**

That night sleep fails me.

I never realized what a blast it is to be able to close your eyes and simply drift into a peaceful slumber until this year. Ever since I returned to Hogwarts for the last time, everything's been a big, entangled mess full of confusion, unsolved questions and cryptic enigmas. I remember that, before this whole love triangle drama nonsense started, I used to sleep like a baby. Because, even though riddles ran rampant in my head then too, I snuggled under the covers with one thought: the sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I wake up, and the sooner my mind's clear enough again to lose myself once more in some book. Some book that would, undoubtedly, deliver answers.

But there's no book for my problems now, is there?

I've come to realize that, alas, life and its difficulties (friendship, lust, love?) is just that. Life and its difficulties. Because there _is_ no Q&A article available for what's going on now. There _is_ no manual telling me what do to from A to Z. No fucking _nothing_. I'm all on my own. And _that's_ what scares me – that there is no outlined script this time, that all solutions will have to spring from my own brain.

And how can I still trust that brain, that same brain that urged me to cheat on my boyfriend with Scorpius Malfoy? Or worse – made me fall in _love_ with said boy?

_Honestly_.

The funny thing is, I once studied a book about neuroscience, and the subject of love appeared in it. It said that as people fall in love, the brain releases certain chemicals, like serotonin, or dopamine, or norepinephrine. Chemicals that stimulate the brain's pleasure centre. So basically the book told me that being in love makes you happy, and that there's even _scientific evidence_ to prove it.

So why _aren't_ I high-spirited, then?

I mean, this feels like a _disease_. An annoying, all-round disease that takes over my body whenever Malfoy is near. And I just want to get rid of it, you know? I sincerely, truly, genuinely wish this illness to pass me by and find another victim to sink its teeth in. Increased heart-rate? Nervousness? Clammy hands? Stuttering? Loss of appetite? Loss of aforementioned _sleep_?

Oh, yeah. Hooray! Let us all celebrate! Go get that fancy champagne!

Or, well, you know, _not_.

Because that sounds an awfully lot like symptoms of a disease to me.

What's strange, though, is that I've once thought myself to be in love before. With the boy I lost my virginity to – Tony. He was handsome, and charming, and nice, and – come to think about it – resembled Stephano strongly. Both character-wise and looks-wise. He treated me with respect, and I _liked_ the way he treated me. We had fun. We were great friends. I enjoyed his company – more than I enjoyed my other friends' company. And all of my friends were wonderful, so I immediately deducted that this had to be love. I impulsively translated my fondness into the L-word.

Which was pure naivety, as I've learned now.

Tony was never _really_ more than a crush. Perhaps my feelings for him were more pronounced than those for Stephano, but even that's questionable as there was no Malfoy around to tempt me. Tony never made me feverish at the mere sight of him. He never made me melt when he pressed his lips against mine. Tony never made me toss and turn at night, like I'm doing now.

Malfoy does.

Only he has a best mate he is fiercely loyal too, commitment issues, the entire female population of Hogwarts jumping for a shot, and – a small detail, of course – a rotten personality three quarters of the time.

I sit up straight in my bed, groaning heavily.

Maybe I _should_ dig up that book about neuroscience again.

Deciding that I won't stumble into darkness anytime soon, I throw the sheets off me, hastily put on an extra sweater, tie my hair together, and get up. My head spins momentarily from standing so suddenly, but the dizziness vanishes quickly. I softly close the door behind me and descend the stairs. When I arrive in the common room, I stumble upon a surprise once again.

The reason for my insomnia is lying with his back flat on one of the couches, with a book covering his stomach.

As if Stupefied, I stare at the way the light of the flames of the fireplace roll across his face for one, long moment. Then I catch myself and snap out of it. I walk over to his soundlessly sleeping form, and pick up the book. I instantly recognise it and roll my eyes.

_Nausea_. From Sartre.

How utterly unsurprising. Say hallo to misanthropy and manipulation. Say hello to Scorpius Malfoy!

When I drop the book on the table in the middle of the room, my eye falls on something else. Apparently there _are_ some thing that the boy does healthily – _eating_. I grab a grape from a magically appeared scale, and pop it in my mouth. Somewhere during the process of chewing and stealing glances at the blond, an idea creeps onto me.

The corners of my lips quirk into a devilish smile.

I take another grape and squeeze it a little, so the dark juice of the fruit drips out of it. Then I creep towards Malfoy again and sit down on my knees next to him. The following thing I do is pressing the leaking grape on his face. Chuckling silently, I paint a smile upon his otherwise so haughty face.

I can't help but burst out laughing at the sight.

Quite hilarious actually.

Unfortunately, the object of my (unwilling) affections stirs. Big time. As in, he groans, lifts up a hand, and brushes it over his cheek. I laugh again, however, because he has only smudged the juice further, which results in the view of a face half red.

And then the inevitable happens.

His eyelids fly open.

_Bloody hell._

"Good, err, night, Malfoy," I smile my brightest smile. "How are you?"

"Weasley," he brings out sleepily, "did you just put something on my face?"

I look at him full of innocence. "Your face? Why should I put something on your face?"

He doesn't buy it. "_Accio_ mirror!"

Perhaps I should just inform him what song I want them to play on my funeral.

I am dead. In fact, I am more than dead. I am _beyond_ dead.

"Did you just smudge me with a _grape_?" Malfoy gasps out after he's taken a look in the mirror. "I mean, are you _suicidal_?"

"No," I peep, and start to crawl up before he has the chance to throttle me.

The annoying thing is that his reflexes are quicker than mine, and therefore he has jumped off the couch long before I've had the chance to run away. He pulls me by my wrist, and in one swirl I'm pushed against his chest. Determined to not let him distract me (hello? Have _you_ ever been pressed against eye candy like this one?), I continue to struggle.

"You're going down, Weasley," he whispers in my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck rise.

Staying true to his promise, he snatches a handful of grapes and shatters them all _right in my curls_.

"My hair, Malfoy!" I yell on the top of my lungs. "My _hair_!"

"Well – you deserved it, didn't you?" Smirk full-blown. "And – " Smirk completely zeroed. "Did you just – did you just mess up _my_ hair?"

"You look nice as a redhead," I comment, clutching my stomach at the sight of him.

Even though he tries his best to hide his own laughter, he fails and ends up gasping with me. We stand there for a few minutes, regaining strength and laughing each time we look at each other again. Three o'clock in the morning, and Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley are panting on one another's shoulder. Good thing the world hardly surprises me anymore – considering the past two months – or else I'd be _overly_ gobsmacked by this scene.

Just when I'm about to let my guard down, I notice how Malfoy his hand has found its way back to the scale.

_Ooooh_ no, buddy, I don't think so.

Although I can't prevent him from taking a handful, I manage to snag the scale and to duck behind the table. Taken aback by my quickness, Malfoy staggers momentarily, but then goes for the couch as a shield. So currently, Malfoy and I are both stuck behind a piece of furniture, waiting for the other to come out first and then thus, get grapes smashed in the face.

_Hah_!

"_Maaaaalfooyyy_," I sing-song in a childlike voice, "where are you?"

No response.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously and wonder about his tactics. Of _course_ he wouldn't answer me. That would prove he's still located behind the couch, and, in case he is, he certainly would want to keep it a secret from his opponent.

Think, Rose, _think_.

What would Scorpius Malfoy do? Would he stay, quiet, and get ready for the defence, _or_ for a self-initiated attack? He's a Slytherin. Slytherins use all dirty tricks in the books. Morals be damned. They're sly and sneaky. I'd say they're also often quite stupid, but unfortunately, Malfoy is no such thing. He's rather clever, in fact. And also quite funny sometimes, in a cunning, sarcastic way... And of course, _fit_ as well... With his metal grey eyes, and platinum, silky hair...

Argh, Rose!

_Focus_!

Game-plan!

"Oh, come _on_," I continue in the same tone, "you aren't going to _sleep_ behind that sodding couch, are you?"

"Au contraire," a soft voice comes from behind me, startling me out of my wits.

Oh, _shit_.

"Surprise, Weasley!"

Smashed grapes on my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, my lips, my eyebrows, my chin, my neck.

Three times hooray.

Now I have a skin colour to _literally_ match my hair.

"Oh bloody hell!" I splutter with steam blowing out of my ears. "That was _so_ not fair!"

Smiling shrewdly like the little snake he is, he puts a soiled hand upon my shoulder, and says, "You were playing against _me_, love. You knew what you were up to. And now if you'll excuse me – I'm going to bed."

"But – but," I watch in agony how he turns around and goes for his staircase. "Don't expect this to be the end of it!"

"I'll be looking forward to it," he gives me a wink and disappears to his room.

_So_.

My best Scourgify spell is it, then.

* * *

Breakfast is pure _hell_.

"So," Louis' voice comes from afar. "Are we making a habit of looking like shit?"

I don't bother to raise my head from its comfortable position – my arms are serving as a pillow – so my cousin can't see me rolling my eyes. "Are we making a habit of being irritating enough to torture you to death?"

"Yes, you love me. No need to tell," he replies drily, and then starts poking me with something.

"What the hell, Louis?" I sigh, cracking one eyelid open with bad grace. "Is that an _apple_?"

Because, seriously. Who needs green, glowing, sappy-looking apples? Well, not me. What I need, is a good _week_ of unconsciousness. And, furthermore, I have no appetite either way. I'm in love, _remember_? Those who are mentally and physically tormented by this sinister, abominable sickness, do not hold themselves up with something as insignificant as _eating_. Oh, no. They have more important, _relevant_ matters to keep them occupied. Like, forgetting how to sleep, for example.

Merlin, how horrible _is_ this?

"You're getting too skinn – Oh, my. Is that Violetta?"

At the mention of the girl's name, I do, hesitantly however, look up.

And – Oh, my indeed. Is _that_ Violetta?

"You! _You_!" A blotched, ridiculous mass of hysteria marches towards us, pointing an index fingers to... _me_? "You _whore_!"

Exactly what I needed. An angry girlfriend on my plate. What a classic. Truly the _cherry_ on top of the cake.

An indignant flush spreads across my cheeks as I realize that this stupid bint has just accused me of a crime she's guilty of herself. We are, nonetheless, in the Great Hall, and there is an army of teachers sitting quite nearby. Therefore I can't: A) hex her into oblivion, or B) scream her ears off.

Luckily, there's always option C.

Misuse one's power.

"In case you've failed to notice," I respond stiffly, "I'm still Head Girl, and, subsequently, authorized to give you appropriate punishments."

"I don't give a _damn_, Rose!" She exclaims, sniffling loudly. "You _already_ took everything from me!"

I regard her with a partly amused, partly disbelieving expression. "And that might be...?"

"He _dumped_ me! He dumped _me_ for _you_!" Her shrieks are gaining volume. "How _could_ he! Or no – how could you? _How_, Rose?"

Alright. So first off, dearest not-friend of mine, I owe you zilch, nada, _nothing_. Even _if_ he dumped you for me, I wouldn't need to have qualms about it, since you and I were never truly considered _friends_. We are _acquaintances_, and if I need to take every acquaintance I know in consideration for my potential boyfriend, then I have a long way to go. Secondly – what makes you think that you're so much of a better catch for him than I am? What's wrong with me? Not obsessed enough with my appearance maybe? Too intelligent? Too unbending? Because then I got news for you, Violetta honey. Malfoy might actually _like_ a challenge for a change.

At least, that's what flies through my head.

What I say in real life, is the following: "Violetta, I _really_ don't get what you're on about."

"He dumped me," she throws something in front of me, "for _this_."

It's the magazine.

And then it finally hits me.

_He dumped her._

They are no longer boy- and girlfriend. They are no longer Malfoy and Violetta. There are no more chances of me running into them having sex. Or at least the chances have considerably slimmed down.

"How did you get that?" I ask, suppressing an joyful grin."And what does it have to do with you?"

"I got it when I came to his room to try to change his mind!" She breaks into an unattractive wail. I almost feel sorry for her, when, "Nothing! That's _exactly_ the reason, you two-faced slut! It has got everything to do with _you_ and nothing with _me_!"

Oh, for the love of Merlin.

It must be _such_ a terrifying revelation to finally discover that the world doesn't revolve around yourself.

Poor, poor Violetta.

"I'm getting quite fed up with your name-calling, Violetta," I inform casually, doing my utter best to calm the internal storm inside. "These are issues you ought to discuss with Malfoy, I reckon, and – "

An all too well-known voice interrupts me. "Weasley's right."

Sudden nervousness? Check. Speeding up of the heart rate? Check. Clammy hands? Check.

"I mean, you really don't have the right to attack her like that," Malfoy goes on unperturbedly. "The magazine has nothing to do with it."

As I venture a look at him, I see that he's wearing an extraordinarily irritated expression.

Keep down that gleeful smirk, Rose. _Keep it down_.

"Oh, _defending_ her, are we now?" Violetta screeches.

"For fuck's sake, don't be such a drama-queen," Malfoy replies, his eyes hitting the ceiling. "She's my partner. The article was a joke. We had _fun_. It has nothing to do with me and you. We're over because I _don't love you_."

Charming boy, that one.

Louis and I turn our heads from left to right with obvious interest.

"Un – _unbelievable_!" Violetta wails, full of theatrical show. "Don't expect this to be the last of it!"

And then she runs out of the Great Hall.

Malfoy and I exchange a grin, as that's exactly what I told him too last night.

* * *

Casino Night is coming closer.

I watch how the prefects – and Malfoy – walk out the class room we've just held our last meeting in. It has gone quite well this time. Nobody mentioned anything about Malfoy and I or Stephano and I (which came unexpected, given Violetta's breakdown this morning), loads of inspirational suggestions were made, everyone agreed to help out with the preparations, nobody flew at anyone's throat, and most of all, Stephano acted civil towards both Malfoy and me. Distant, yes, but professional.

Which brings me to things still left undone.

"Hey, Stephano!"

He comes to a halt and turns around. His face is morphed into a questioning expression, but he doesn't look too uninviting. Therefore, I continue on my way and decide to act on my former thoughts. I can't run away from this forever.

"What is it?" His voice is neutral as I've approached him.

I offer him a careful smile. "We need to talk."

"What's there left to say, really?" He asks, quite hostile.

I can see him struggling underneath. He's always been easier to read than Malfoy. Probably an inner war between his curiosity (which can be a pest – I know _all_ about it) and his anger. Though subsided, it must still be there. I can hardly imagine it to be _gone_.

It's comparable to my guilt.

It's _present_. Whether I like it or not.

"I'm sorry?" I rush my words, mumbling them under my breath. "I mean, I really am."

Sensing my discomfort, he raises an eyebrow. "You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry," I repeat, and then, in a less hastened manner, "I'm sincerely sorry. I really wish that things would've worked out differently. It's just that... it simply _happened_. I didn't want something like it do occur, you know? But it did. And there's nothing I can do to change it now. Except for apologizing for hurting you."

And, you know, once you're on a roll, it's as if the leech that's been capturing you, finally _snaps_, and you're unable to stop. Like an avalanche. One flake comes down and an entire snowpack follows.

"Because that's something I really hate myself for doing! Hurting you! Everything was such a mess and suddenly I stopped hating Malfoy and he stopped hating me – Merlin knows why or how – and one night we just ended up snogging, for some reason, and then... I don't know. I'd explain it to you but I just don't know," I shrug helplessly as I search for the right things in my head. "When I agreed to go out with you, I wasn't expecting the stuff between Malfoy and I to happen. I really _did_ think I would fall in love with you."

Stephano keeps quiet for a while, and it's a deafening silence.

I fidget nervously under his calculating gaze. "Stephano?"

"Are you in love with him?" he asks eventually, with a slight frown.

I meet his eyes, and notice there's no anger. Merely... contemplation.

"Yes," I admit quietly, "unfortunately, I think I am."

"Then it's okay," he says casually.

My jaw drops to the ground. He can't possibly be serious, can he? I mean, the scene in the shop, the fight with Malfoy – it certainly didn't look okay to _me_. It rather seemed like he had giant, irreversible issues with it, to tell you the truth.

"_What_? What happened to _naive_?"

He smiles sadly. "You can't help who you love. I know that now. Want to go for a walk outside?"

I'm rendered speechless for a few seconds at the sheer absurdity of his suggestion, but then relief floods over me. He's _forgiven_ me. I can finally stop feeling so overwhelmingly _guilty_ all the time. Alright, so I'll still feel guilty, since it's a crime that won't go away that easily, and has scarred my innocent record for, well, forever, but it's a start.

"Clean slate?" I ask hopefully, returning the smile with cautiousness.

He nods. "Clean slate."

"Alright then," I beam, not believing my luck, "a walk outside it is."

* * *

No, this is no cue for Rose & Stephano to get back together, in case you thought so. Anyway, thanks for reading, and, if I'm lucky, reviewing.


	24. Twentyfour

OKAY. You can be mad. Thing is, well, you probably don't care where I've been and all that, but let's just say that I can't remember the last time I've been home on my own before today. And I'm going to LDN Saturday, so next update will probably take a while as well.

Good news is that, twenty-four down, two to go. This story's almost over.

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns.

**TWENTY-FOUR**

The next day, I arrive in class with a smile plastered permanently on my face.

Ever since Stephano forgave me, I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Yesterday we spent the evening sitting on the bench where we resided the first the time he kissed me, only now there wasn't any pressure, or tension, or some sort of obligation. Instead I felt _free_, and we had a good conversation. Sure, there was that certain twinkle in his eyes, or sometimes his gaze lingered a little too long on me, but I've told him the truth about my feelings for Malfoy, so I didn't have to worry about leading him on.

Thus, when I see Stephano sitting in the back, I give him a small, friendly wave, to which he responds by giving me a lop-sided smile. I don't know why, but somehow it surprises me that Malfoy isn't sitting next to him. I would've expected them to be friends again – after all, Stephano and I are friends again too, aren't we?

Malfoy is located as far away from his former best mate as possible – in the front row. When he turns around I notice immediately how incredibly exhausted he looks. Obvious circles under his eyes, and his skin even paler than usual. I offer him a bit of a teasing grin, indicating that we still have a score to settle, but he doesn't react.

In fact, the way he looks at me is quite... unfriendly.

Shrugging off the uneasy feelings and questions this bottles up in me, I shove a chair backwards not too far away from him. I look around to see where Louis is, but he seems to be late. The person I do see, however, is Violetta, and strangely enough she's heading towards _me_.

"Is it okay if I sit next to you?" she asks, with a completely blank face.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "What for?"

"There aren't many seats left, are there?" She replies.

Hating Louis for not turning up magically this very moment, I nod begrudgingly, knowing she's right. I don't get much time to ponder over this though, since our Potions teacher has entered the room. Professor Arckerley is a young, rather naive woman that replaced Professor Slughorn five years ago. She's quite pretty, in a mousy sort of way, but she's not much of a proper authority. She has great trouble controlling her students, and therefore, not many of them take her lessons seriously.

"Good morning, students."

A few mumbles here and there arise.

"Today," she continues breezily, putting down her bag on the table in the front, "we're going to work in pairs."

_Pairs._

The dreaded word.

Pairs equals partner. Partner equal another person on my project. Another person on my project equals imperfection. Imperfection equals torture.

I _hate_ teamwork.

Unfortunately, I'm probably the only one in this entire class, except for Malfoy, and some cheers are heard.

"Let's not make this too complicated," she smiles at the enthusiasm. "You just partner up with your neighbour."

Well, yes, why not? Make it worse, why don't you?

"The potion we are going to make today, is called the Confusing & Befuddlement Draught. It is not too hard, yet not too simple either. The effect is, as the name says, to cause confusion. It keeps up for approximately five hours if not cured, and it is not a pleasant feeling."

I groan silently as I steal a glance at Violetta. She seems pretty absorbed in Professor Arckerley's words, which is a tad bothersome as she's _never_ absorbed in Professor Arckerley's words – hence the inability to control her class.

"I'll distribute your ingredients now," she goes on, raising them in the air to show them. "Open your book on page 245 for instructions."

To my further bafflement, Violetta takes out her book instantly. While Professor Arckerley skips through the room, putting sneezewort, scurvy-grass and lovage on each desk, she shoves the book in the middle. When I want to start reading, she's ahead of me.

"So the first thing we need to do is – " she stops in the middle of her reading. "Oh, shit! I can't get this stupid flacon open!"

"Let me try it," I mutter, and take the bottle from her.

Unfortunately, she's not just pussy I thought she was. It really _is_ hard to open. When after more or less two minutes pulling with all my might, I decide to use my teeth. I do get it opened, only –

_Shit_.

Fog starts to cloud my senses.

Professor Arckerley runs towards me. Violetta wears a sly smile. Louis, who has chosen that exact time to enter the class, follows Professor Arckerley's example. Stephano's features are transformed into a frowning expression. And Malfoy...

Malfoy is _laughing_. Hard.

That's the last concrete thing I register.

In a matter of seconds something _befuddling_ indeed happens to my mind. The faces around me grow blurry, laughter and shrieks and worried exclaims blend into a mass of unfamiliar sounds. I fail to fathom the otherwise so known sights and situations surrounding me – and I press both my hands against my head in frustration.

The only question rising to the surface is: _why_?

Why is this happening?

Why can't I remember anything?

Why don't I recognise anything?

Why does this feel like _my_ head has become a cauldron – with a spoon stirring around and all different elements smelting together?

And why... _why_ was that blond bastard laughing so hard?

* * *

"Perhaps you should get over him."

Those are Lily's first words when I open my eyes and realize that I'm in the hospital.

"Over who?" I ask, rubbing my temples, wondering why I'm here. "What are you talking about?"

She gives me an annoyed look. "Malfoy, _duh_."

Malfoy.

Flashes of laughter overwhelm me when she speaks his name.

"Yeah," I don't meet her eyes. "I should."

"I mean, Merlin," she continues like the insensitive child she can be sometimes, "he was really making fun of you! He and Violetta were nearly _dying_ of laughter! Stephano got mad about it too."

"He and Violetta?" I repeat tonelessly.

She nods heavily. "He and Violetta."

I grit my teeth.

And jump out of the bed.

* * *

I don't _walk_ into our common room – I _storm_ into it.

It takes nearly all of my power to not blast the door open with the most harmful spell I know. I briefly wonder whether it's possible to Crucio a door, but then again, what does it matter? You can certainly Crucio the boy _behind_ the door, and that's currently the only thing on my mind. Forget about the crush I had about this sorry excuse for a human being.

I find him lying casually on the couch, as usual. He seems engrossed in the book he's reading, and even though he must have heard my entrance (how could he _not_?), he doesn't bother to lift his head up. I'm having none of it, however, and with a simple Accio, his book flies from his hands to – well, the ground in front of me.

"What the _hell_ was that about earlier?"

He looks at me with a thoroughly irritated expression. "Couldn't you ask me that question _without_ reverting to primitive ways of making conversation?"

"I'm not _making conversation_, you prick!" I exclaim shrilly. "I'm _demanding_ what in the bloody name of Merlin you were on about this afternoon!"

"Just having a laugh, really," he shrugs dismissively, and with a flick of his wand, the book is his property again.

I squint my eyes dangerously. "Well, that's the _point_. There was nothing to laugh about!"

"Sure there was," he objects, flipping through the pages. "Very Slytherin of Violetta – surprised me, to be honest. If I'd known that side of her before..."

Now. It'd be quite helpful to know if he's just trying to rile me up, or _actually_ means this. I'm not hoping for the latter, because I want to avoid a reunion between Malfoy and Violetta at all costs – not that I care. I mean, since I'm not suffering from this silly crush anymore, there's no reason to get jealous, and...

Oh, Sweet Merlin. Who am I kidding?

If this silly crush was over and done with, I wouldn't be here fuming in the first place.

"Then _what_, Malfoy?" I hear myself crying out in a voice that doesn't feel like mine. "Then _what_? You wouldn't have snogged me while you were dating her? You wouldn't have called out my name first when the Bludger nearly hit us? You wouldn't have stood up for me in the Great Hall?"

Malfoy snorts at my outburst in a very descending manner. He kinks an eyebrow, and then says, dry as a desert at two o'clock in the afternoon, "Then perhaps I wouldn't have dumped her."

I open my mouth, and close it again. I count to twenty inwardly, and blink about sixty times meanwhile. When after that I still think he said the same thing I initially thought he'd said, I repeat dully, "You wouldn't have dumped her."

"That's right," he confirms, and then turns back to his book, rolling his eyes ostentatiously.

A renewed, white hot anger surges through me, worse than the rage I felt before. I can't _believe_ he is writing me off this casually, like I'm... like I'm not even worth the dirt under his shoe! Sure, he's acted that way for six years, but with recent events, you'd think the situation would've changed _somewhat_, wouldn't you?

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy," I yell indignantly. "Why are you _being_ like this? You've been so... different, lately, and now you're all... just..." I trail off, the rights words failing me.

With his gaze fixed on the text in front of him, he spats, "Well, Weasley, _you're_ the reason why I'm currently in a fight with my best mate, and the only way I could deal with that, is that he blames _you_ too. But with what I hear, you're all back to lovey dovey with each other – as if nothing happened."

So.

Have I gone mental or did he just say what I thought he said?

Because, honestly, me and Stephano, lovey dovey? Where does _that_ come from? If by lovey dovey, he means once-boyfriend-and-girlfriend-to-then-be-developed-into-a-hate-relationship-to-then-be-promoted-to-a-I-have-forgiven-you-let's-be-friendly-acquaintances, then yeah, lovey dovey it is.

"Silent now, aren't we?" He adds spitefully, when I indeed have kept my lips pressed together in consideration.

"I am merely wondering," I bite out, "what kind of psychological disease has just overthrown you to make you declare such utter _nonsense_?"

The exasperating blond finally gives up the show and snaps his book shut with a loud noise. "Do you have an idea about your most horrible aspect, Weasley?"

"Oh, please enlighten me, you omniscient one?"

Because, honestly, two can play the sarcasm game.

"You're such a fucking _hypocrite_. I mean, at least I _admit_ that I'm not some holy Harry Potter or something. At least I don't _pretend_ to be flawless – "

"Oh, _that's_ rich!" I cut him off loudly. "That's rich coming from the most conceited, arrogant person I've ever met!"

Waving away my interruption, he continues steadily, "What I'm saying is, is that _I_ own up to being a bastard! I might not be _sorry_ for it – but at least I don't attempt to make people believe that I'm some virginal, innocent goody two-shoes when in reality I'm a lying, cheating, deceiving twat!"

"The _only_ reason I ever lied or cheated or deceived was because of _you_!" I bellow, despair passing all bounds. "So I _really_ don't get what kind of _lamebrain_ point you're trying to get across here!"

"The _lamebrain_ point, as you so eloquently put it, I'm making, is that apparently you and Stephano went _all the way_ last night," he takes a deep breath, fire flickering in his darkened eyes, ready to blow his cool, "and that _I'm_ still at odds with the lad!"

I take a moment to let the words progress, and when even then I fail to get it, I bring out dumbly, "What do you mean, _all the way_?"

"Yeah, that's what they told me, Weasley. Apparently Stephano's been spreading the news."

"Wait." My eyes widen considerably. "Someone told you – " I pause, let comprehension dawn upon me further. "Someone told you that Stephano and I somehow... _shagged_?"

He sighs, aggravated, but doesn't provide me with the information I need.

"Hold on – " My eyebrows knit together in realization. "Who told you this?"

"Violetta," he replies, as if daring me to contradict his beloved on/off girlfriend.

I gladly take up the challenge, _completely_ fed up with this whole misunderstanding. "And you – you just _believe_ her? With _no_ proof?"

"_Weasley_," he puts a belittling emphasis on my surname, "I saw you two running off together _myself_. Violetta merely _confirmed_ the facts."

"No, she _didn't_! It's not because every time _you_ run off with some female you have sex _by definition_, that I'm the same!"

I don't owe him an explanation. In fact, I'm not obliged to him whatsoever. But there is a pull in me – a nest of worms, _desperate_ to crawl out. Words that need to be spoken. Words that need to turn his obstinacy over something so incredibly miscomprehended around.

"There we go again. See? _Hypocrite_."

"So..." I stare at him with round eyes. "You just _choose_ not to believe me?"

I feel like I'm trying to explain an Apparition spell to a _three-year-old_.

"Yes," he affirms curtly, like we're talking about some business deal. "Discussion closed."

And then something happens.

You know, sometimes we do things we don't understand, just because we're _beyond_ ourselves. We've passed a certain border. Got somehow further than the limit. Like when a woman gives birth to a new life, for example. Or when you've lost a loved one and suddenly he or she has returned. Those are illusive, marvellous affairs. You're not _just_ ecstatic – you're so ecstatic you feel like... like you can carry the _whole world_. But it also works the other way round. Not only _love_ brings us to that place. Rage tends to instigate the same mental derangement. Perhaps not in the same manner, but what I'm trying to say is, sometimes emotions take us so far we can't _control_ them anymore.

Which brings us to this moment.

This horrendous moment in which I, losing a million brain cells with each time I lift a foot, walk towards Malfoy, with a heart jumping out of my chest and blood rushing to my face in anger, pick up his book, and start hitting him with it. And I mean, _fiercely_. With adrenaline racing through every vein, I whack the damn object against his frame, each time harder and harder, each time driven by a force I had not yet discovered.

And, the funny thing is, I know it's not just _this_ stupid fight. It's pent-up frustration canalised in this one breakdown, projected on this one insufferable git. That – and because I suppose I have to take great measures for him to actually _see_ things.

"Fucking hell, Weasley!" By the looks of it, Malfoy's not far off the level of fury I'm on. "This is _physical assault_!"

And in a fraction of a second – I'm too caught up to notice on time – his wand his pointed at the middle of my face.

"Are you going to stop it?" He demands icily, threateningly.

I try to rummage through my pockets as nondescriptly as possible, but come to the frightening conclusion that I haven't got my wand on me anymore. Facing him with my chin in the air, I retaliate, just as coldly, "Are you going to give me back my wand?"

"And let you hex me into oblivion?"

"Possibly," I focus on his stormy eyes, gulping down any fears caused by the object hanging an inch away from my nose. "Or are you ready to face the truth yet?"

"You're hardly in a position to negotiate," he remarks shrewdly.

I breathe in an enormous amount of air to calm myself down, and in the most tranquil voice I can muster, I say, "I'll tell you why it's impossible Stephano and I did something last night."

Although he's hesitant to show it, the anticipation and anxiety is clear in his expression.

"The thing is, Malfoy," I press my eyelids closed, and take a very slow step backwards. "Even if I wanted to..."

An intermezzo befalls us, in which I hear Malfoy heaving a sigh.

"Even if I wanted to," my heart is pounding in my ears, "I couldn't. Because I'm hung up," louder, and louder, and louder, "on _you_."

Strangely quiet, he uncharacteristically peeps, "On _me_?"

"I'm in love with you, Malfoy," I open my eyes again. "_That's_ why you shouldn't believe Violetta."

And for a long, an excruciatingly long second, I watch him – and he just _stands_ there.

Doing nothing.

Barely reacting at all.

"Can I have my wand back now, please?" I whimper.

Don't cry. _Don't_ cry...

He soundlessly lowers his own wand and retrieves mine from his pocket. The exchange is almost surreal, with what my head still being on the words I just spoke out loud. I tuck the object back where it belongs, safe away.

_Discussion closed_.

When after quite a while he _still_ hasn't said anything, I make up my mind.

This is a lost cause.

And therefore, I exit the room.

* * *

Building up a climax towards the end, you ask?


	25. Twentyfive

Sorry for the late update and the very high rubbish factor of this chapter.

Thanks for the reviews though!

**Disclaimer**: don't own.

**TWENTY-FIVE**

On Friday night I come a conclusion.

I've never really had my heart broken.

This may seem strange for a seventeen-year-old girl who's had her fair share of boyfriends and crushes, but it's the truth. When Tony and I broke up, I merely felt some twinge of regret. Regret because someone I cared about was suffering from a pain _I_ caused. Stephano was a similar case. There was an overwhelming guilt – true – but it never _penetrated_ me. It never _soaked_ through my veins. It never made me feel as if somebody up there shattered my world with one giant squeeze. It bothered me, yes, but that was due to my ethical values, not my emotions.

Emotions…

Kind of a funny thing, really. Human emotions. They're so determining. They make you tumble. They're what separates us from machines, aren't they? The ability to _feel_? The ability to be happy, sad, distressed, ecstatic, euphoric, disappointed, vibrant, alive, lonely, anxious, nervous?

The ability to get _crushed_?

I remember the first time Malfoy unlaced _emotion_ within me. On the Hogwarts Express, the very first day of my school career. He elicited an annoyance none of my friends or cousins had ever managed to cause before. It was _intense_. And it _remained_ intense for six years. Only then we had to go and get wasted during detention. Only then we had to go and snog each other senseless. Only then _I_ had to and _fall in love with him_. My intense hatred for him changed into an intense intrigue, fascination, crush – whatever you want to call it. Everything I do with Malfoy borders on extreme. It's never average or normal. Whether it's a fight or a make-out session, we do it full-blown. And so is my gloom.

_Full-blown_.

There's an emptiness in my guts. A restriction of my throat. A constant urge to cry. To _sob_, even. And what for, you're asking? An arrogant blond who treated you like shit for years? Because, really. I ask myself that question every minute of the day. I suppose I deserve it. Like karma or something. For hurting so many boys over the years without really realizing how _much_ I hurt them – because I never had an experience like it. Hearts are fragile things. So are egos.

Both are pulverized in my case.

I haven't spoken to Malfoy in a week. He avoids me like the plague, and I can't say I'm very keen on running into him either. During meals, I always sit with my back to the Slytherin table. In classes I make sure to sit in the front, so there's no chance I have to look at his hair or his neck. The only positive thing I can say about this week, is that I haven't seen him with Violetta. And that Violetta's looking just as bad as I do. Which is only fair, I'd say.

I hate her.

I hate her like I used to hate Malfoy – and _that's_ saying something.

* * *

"Enough moping around!"

I groggily open my eyes –

And find an army of saviours sitting on my bed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I mumble sleepily, eyeing Lily, Albus and Louis in suspicion.

Lily, whose shrill voice has awaked me, beams at me. "We are Team on the Rescue!"

"Team on the rescue?" I repeat doubtfully, not liking where this is going.

"That's right," Albus cuts in. "_Apparently_ my best friend turns out to be _hung up_ on, Merlin forbid, _Scorpius Malfoy_, and we _cannot_ let that happen!"

I raise my head slowly. "You can't?"

"No," Louis goes on. "And you know why?"

I grunt something, completely uninterested.

"Because it's Casino Night today!" Lily exclaims, clapping happily.

Totally disgusted at her misplaced enthusiasm, I glare at the girl. "Three times hooray."

"Oh, come on, Rosie!" Louis' turn again. "You've spent two months organising the thing! Aren't you excited?"

"Terribly," I reply drily, suggesting I'm everything _but_.

"Look, you can't let him ruin this for you," my sandy-haired cousin says, giving me a concerned look.

With my head falling back into my pillow, I sigh loudly. "He already did, so _whatever_."

"Ugh, you are _soooo_ negative." As I'm staring at the ceiling now, I can't see her, but I'm sure Lily's rolling her eyes this very moment. "Lighten up! You have to help with the preparations anyway. And they're starting right about... now."

Oh, right.

With certain monstrous creature occupying my mind all week, I've utterly forgotten about my duties. I'm such a _girl_. A whiny, heartbroken teenage girl. The one you read books about. The one I've always _abhorred_.

My life is in shambles.

At least _that's_ fully established now.

"Can't I just call in sick or something?" I ask petulantly, knowing I've lost this one already.

"Mate, did the lad _poison_ you or something?" Here comes Albus' lovely little contribution to the situation. "What happened to the old Rose?"

"She died around the same time she fell in love with the world's biggest prick," I answer dramatically, hoping for them to shut up already.

Of course, _nothing_ works out this week, so neither does my wish.

"Oh, Merlin, could you just quit it?" Lily asks insensitively. "He's not worth it."

I snort. "Thanks for clearing that up, Lily."

"At least her sarcasm's still intact," Albus remarks.

"Well, Rose being not sarcastic would just plain creep me out," says Louis.

Lily giggles slightly. "Then we'd really have to ship her off to St.Mungo's!"

"You might not realize it," I butt in, "but 'Rose' is actually _in the same room_."

The three of them reward me with an annoyed look.

"_Anyway_," says Lily, "we haven't got much time. We've got to help with the preparations, and then we have to do your dress and hair and make-up, so there's _loads_ to do!"

_Fantastic_.

"Go away then, so can at least get dressed or something," I mutter.

Albus holds up his hands. "Alright, alright! I can't stand you as a drama queen, Rose, I _really_ can't!"

"It doesn't suit you. It makes you look _old_," adds Lily with a contemplating frown.

Needless to say, I ignore them both. Luckily they do as I asked, and leave my room. Louis, on the other hand, is still sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Don't mind them."

I heave another sigh. "I don't."

"You know them, the way they operate," Louis continues soothingly. "They don't know what a broken heart feels like."

"And you do?" I ask, scanning him with knowing eyes.

"No," he admits, "but I'm not as dim-witted as either of them. I know you inside out, Rose Weasley. Like the back of my hand. I've been watching you closely this week, and I know there's something… fundamentally wrong. Things are _off_."

I feel a yet unfamiliar love bubbling up in my guts. Not many people are as lucky as I am – to have a cousin slash best friend whom you don't even have to tell things, because they just _notice_. They see it's _there_. And the most beautiful thing about it?

They actually _care_.

"You've got a point," I smile sadly. "I don't know what it is. I'm not supposed to feel like this, you know? It's just… a _boy_, right?"

He scoots closer, and puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. "Yeah, but the first cut is the deepest."

"Poetic, Louis," I chuckle slightly. "Who'd thought you had it in you?"

"I'm serious, Rose. Don't beat yourself up about it. I know he doesn't deserve it, but you don't choose the people you fall in love with," Louis' face is earnest, illustrating the level of his worry.

Another lump forms itself in my throat at the sight of him, and the thought of Malfoy. "I guess you always learn the hard way, then."

"Well, come on," he squeezes my arm gently, "you couldn't expect everything to go smoothly. You're an intelligent, beautiful, gifted witch with a complete lack of hardships in the past. Think about how bad your karma would be if you remained that way!"

"Untainted and pure?" I deduct smartly.

"Inexperienced and blind," he corrects.

I roll my eyes for what seems the millionth time today. "I'd prefer inexperienced and blind, cheers."

It leaves me wondering, though.

Do I really prefer inexperienced and blind? Do I really want to be the girl I've always been? Have I actually truly _been_ the girl I always thought I was? Because she kind of let me down. And surprised me. Knocked me over, all out of the blue. I mean, honestly. _Scorpius Malfoy? _

"You don't," Louis grins disbelievingly.

Not bothering to lie, I shake my head. "I don't."

Silence encounters us – a silence in which we're both occupied with our own minds. He holds me closer, I lean in further. I breathe in the all too familiar scent of their Weasley home – a mix of laundry detergent and faded cologne – and am strangely calmed by it. With everything being so far from home, such a jumbled mess, it is nice to see that things haven't really changed that much. Louis, for example, will always be there. So will Albus, albeit in a different manner.

"Shall we get going then?"

Louis' voice shakes me, and I nod quite unhappily. "I suppose I should get up at some point."

"You should," he glances at the clock, "about _now_."

I imitate his movements, cursing the themed feast. "Yeah."

"Oh, and by the way, Rose?"

"What?"

"You're supposed to have a date. You knew that, right?"

Oh _bloody hell._

_

* * *

_"That one?"

"Luke Anderson? Are you _mental, _Rose?"

"It was worth a try. What about him?"

"Too short."

"Too _short_?"

"Exactly."

"Merlin. Right. Do you see that blond one over – "

"No! No, no, no!"

"What wrong with him then?"

"He's _chummy_, Rose!"

In case you're curious, Lily and I are at breakfast. Rating potential dates. For me, that is – since Lily, naturally, already has had a date for ages. She's made for this kind of thing. You know, getting asked out and all that.

"How shallow can you _be_, Lily?"

"_Hello_! It's not about being shallow, darling," she answers matter-of-factly, "it's about showing Malfoy what you're worth. Which means that a) you have to look dazzling, and b) you have to show up with a fabulous date."

Well. There _is_ some truth in that, of course...

"What Raphael Jenkins?"

"Now _that's_ what we're talking about!"

Raphael Jenkins is a seventh year Gryffindor, and a notorious troublemaker. Sitting only a few seats away from us, he'd be a perfect target. Even though his face isn't handsome in a conventional way, he's quite tall, with a toned body. He's also pretty sought out, due to his Quiddich skills and his playful manners. I also hear he's a bit of a charmer, but I don't know him that well.

We'll have to find out, won't we?

"You reckon he'd say yes?" I ask, considering the fact that the feast is tonight.

Lily beams. "I just overheard him talking to a friend last night, saying that he didn't know who to take!"

"Yeah, but why would he say yes to _me_?"

"Merlin, Rose, boys fight over you. Doesn't that say _enough_?"

Right. Okay.

There we go, then.

I get up from my seat and walk over to him, cursing myself for not putting more effort into my appearance this morning. My hair is a tangled mess, and I imagine my face to be decorated with purple circles under my eyes. Nevertheless, I try to look as self-confident as possible, and tap on his muscular upper arm.

"Oh hi, Rose!" He greets me eagerly when he sees it's me. "How are you doing, love?"

Charmer indeed.

"Great," I send him a big, fake killer smile, or at least something that has to resemble it. "Hey, I need to ask you a question."

"Sure, go ahead," he smiles back.

Not only him, but all of his friends surrounding us, is looking at me with an awaiting expression.

"Uh, I was wondering," I begin, and suddenly remember why I hate this so much, "if you wanted to go to Casino Night with me?"

Anticipating pause.

"Of course!" He replies, his smile broadened. "I thought you'd be going with that Zabini guy or something."

Immense relief.

"We broke up," I explain, giving two thumbs up to Lily, who winks at me in return.

"I see," he says, and then pushes the friend next to him to the side. "Take a seat, love! We were just discussing the events this evening!"

I do as he wants.

I still have a self-esteem that needs to get lifted again, after all.

* * *

At noon, all of us are busy charming the Great Hall into a proper Casino ballroom. That is, all of the prefects, and all of the teachers. I've been so occupied that I haven't had the time to think about the Head Boy. I reckon he must be somewhere in this room as well, but with the right amount of keeping my eyes cast downwards transfiguring objects, I haven't had the misfortune of running into him.

I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed.

Just thinking of my ridiculous, impulsive confession makes me want to gag. The context! The situation! The way I said it! The way he _looked_ at me! With his picture perfect features schooled completely _idle_ –

"Weasley!"

I freeze.

Inhale, exhale. Exhale, inhale. Calm, serene, peaceful, placid, composed –

"Malfoy," I reply, turning around in a very, very dry-eyed fashion. "What's the news?"

Like the rest of us, he is not yet wearing his Casino evening wear. Unlike the rest of us, he doesn't _need_ his Casino evening wear to look dashing. Yet all the good looks in the world don't help him from seeming quite… uneasy. He stares at me with an awkward expression spread across his features, making me wonder what can possibly be so important that it makes Malfoy nervous.

And, of course, there's still the question why he's suddenly talking to me _now_.

"I just – "

I look at him questioningly, as he doesn't continue. "You just?"

He seems to be struggling. "Do you happen to know where these plates should be placed?"

Disappointment bestows upon my shoulders. He'd genuinely looked like he'd wanted to say something meaningful. I probably imagined it again… Just like I imagined all of the signals before. I mean, I _actually_ thought there was a chance he liked me too. Look how fantastic that turned out.

"There, in the right," I tell him blankly, transferring my attention back to the table.

Just when I'm about to sink back into a whirlwind of self-pity, I feel a hand on my underarm, putting on hold the movement I was about to make. I recognise the pale, long fingers instantly, and at the contact of our skin my heart starts hammering wildly. When I look over my shoulder, I find him gazing at me intensely, as if he _expects_ something from me.

"Let go of me."

The order sounds strong, firm, bold. In sharp contrast of the jelly inside of me.

"Oh," he responds somewhat dumbly, retrieving his grip as if been burned. "I just – "

"You just?"

Kind of feels like an extremely recent déjà-vu.

"Did you know that we're supposed to have dates?" He asks in a rushed tone.

Feigning apathy, I coolly say, "Yes."

"I see." He seems surprised. "Well, do you have a date yet?"

Is it me or – is Malfoy attempting to... ask _me_?

Just wondering, since I can't really trust my own judgment anymore.

"I do," I snap, looking past his shoulder to prove him how much I don't care. "Now if you could please leave me alone? I have some work to do."

And then I walk past him.

Without sparing him another glance.

* * *

"Whoa."

That's the word Raphael utters when I open the door of the Heads dormitories.

Which is only fair. Since I've just wasted an excruciatingly long three hours on my appearance, on courtesy of Lily Potter. I've tried on – literally – thirteen dresses. Long ones, short ones, yellow ones, orange ones, blue ones, red ones, ruffled ones, silk ones – you name it. In the end, when I was at the point of tearing Lily's hair out in despair, I found the perfect dress.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: typical. Your usual fairy-tale ending. From ugly duckling to beautiful swan. That kind of nonsense. And I would think so too, so I can't blame you for anything. But, the thing is, first off, I've never been a ugly duckling, and second off, the person picking me up isn't exactly the prince I was wishing for.

That said – my dress is pure _heaven_. I know I'm more of a jumper-and-simple-trousers girl, but even I can't deny it. Lily did a marvellous job on me. The emerald, strapless cocktail number she pulled on me does wonders for my figure – the frailty of my shoulders, the flattering of my ivory skin tone, the length of my legs. Sure, the equally coloured shoes are a tad too high-heeled, but I'll manage. It's a _Casino_ night, not a _ball_.

Lily also took care of my hair. Instead of the unruly curls I usually sport, it's now swept into a sleek bun, with a few strands framing my face. As for make-up, I didn't want to go overboard. Mainly some touches of eyeliner and mascara to expand the size of my eyes, and subtle blush. If Lily could've done as she pleased, I'd probably look like a clown right now, but luckily I've successfully evaded such drama.

"Whoa yourself."

I smile politely, taking in his nice-looking form. His brown hair is gelled back, making his square features come out. His green eyes are sparkling brightly, the suit he's wearing is a fancy one, and he's courteous enough to give me a kiss on my hand.

Too bad I can't stop comparing him to someone else.

"Shall we get going, then?"

"We shall."

* * *

Told you it's rubbish.  
Twenty-five down, one to go. Until next time, dear readers!


	26. Twentysix

THE LAST CHAPTER HAS ARRIVED, DEAR READERS. And it's officially the longest one of the entire story. Which is only fair as you had to wait longer than a week... Whoa, I can't believe it has actually come to an end! I've been so into Chronicles for months, and now suddenly it's OVER. I hope I at least made you enjoy it as much as I did!

I WANT TO THANK ALL OF YOU FOR REVIEWING AS MUCH AS YOU HAVE! Honestly, I may not have responded much, but I appreciated EVERY SINGLE COMMENT. Without them I probably wouldn't even have continued! The support was awesome! I'll hand out some free cookies, or Stephano's, while I'm at it xD

**Disclaimer: **do not own, JK Rowling does.

**TWENTY-SIX**

I must say, I'm proud of what we've achieved.

Linked to Raphael's arm, I walk into the Great Hall, trying my hardest not to stumble. The entrance consists of a long red carpet, with golden stars on the floor next to them – an allusion to the Hollywood touches in a Muggle casino. After we've strolled down the path, a photographer instructs us to stand still and give a big smile. Raphael's hand slips over my waist, pressing me against him slightly. I'm not exactly fond of the contact, but show some teeth all the same.

Only then the camera has to flash.

And remind me of that day in Muggle London with Malfoy.

I quickly shake those memories from my mind and order myself not to think about the fact that I'd look so much better with _him_ next to me. Speaking of which – I wonder whom he brought as his date. Probably someone extremely attractive. With long legs and straight hair and a flat stomach and a filled chest… She'll _have_ to look amazing. It's _Malfoy_ we're talking about. He has high standards for public appearances. Perhaps he even took someone from those fancy balls they have at his home…

"What's on your mind, love?"

Raphael squeezes my upper arm slightly while we go further into the Great Hall – the Great Hall that doesn't even remotely looks like the Great Hall anymore, with its marble floors, the golden ceilings and walls, the classic decoration, the fancy lamps hanging above countless green tables... Sure, I've seen the most part of it before, but I still look around in awe, and the expression on many of my fellow students' face tells me they feel the same way.

"Just... don't you reckon this will be a success?"

Raphael smiles. "_Everything_ you initiate is a success, so I don't see how this could possibly go wrong."

Yeah, and you would know, wouldn't you? Given that you know about everything I've ever tried to accomplish? Given that we know one another inside out?

"Thank you," I say out loud, tampering down the sarcasm inside my head. "Want to play poker?"

"Yeah, great! I love poker!" Raphael grins broadly.

While leading me to the nearest table, he takes my hand. His is sweaty, and instead of feeling cherished, an annoyance comes over me. Pushing him away would be a bit too rough though, so I merely try not to get too close to him. I'm about to take a seat, when –

"Rose! _Rosie_!"

I turn around to see Lily standing behind me. With her spicy blue dress, and her straight red hair hanging loosely down her back, she looks stunning as ever.

"Hey Lily – "

But before I can continue, she bows down next to my ear and whispers, "Malfoy hasn't brought a date!"

My eyes widen. When I want to answer her, however, she's twirled off already. Raphael, luckily, hasn't noticed anything, and now has his attention fixed on the game. Before surprise gets the best of me, the boy on the other side of the table calls out my name and asks me if I'm playing.

"I'm in," I say, to which Raphael reacts by patting me on the back.

_Well_. I didn't realize I served as your personal cat?

The dealer distributes the chips and the cards. Just when I'm about to flip mine, a very familiar face appears in my vision. Stephano – looking more handsome and put together than I've ever seen him – is waving at me from one of the other tables. I see he's engrossed in a game of poker as well, and by the looks of it, he's winning. I want to stand up to go and say hello, but then a waiter arrives at our little group and offers us all a glass of champagne.

Champagne that, of course, is charmed so none of the students are able to get properly drunk.

Everyone, including me, gracefully takes a glass from his plate. When the waiter continues on his way, all heads turn back to their cards. I finally check out mine, and it seems that luck is on my side tonight. With an ace and a king, my chances are pretty high. I decide to take chances this evening, and I immediately raise the stakes.

"Whoa, look who's sure of herself?" One guy muses.

Raphael snorts. "She could be bluffing, guys."

"Whatever – I'm in," another girl.

And then – just when I'm about to smirk at the conversation – _he_ catches my eye.

The platinum of his hair, the scalpel colour of his eyes ever so bright, the pale tone of his skin, the ultimate black of his perfect tuxedo, and the emerald of his tie. The colours of his essence, the colours I've come to know so well, sharpen concretely, making the rest of the room blend into a fuzzy mix of unfamiliar faces in process. My heart brutally stops beating at the sight of him, nearly suffocating me.

And he is staring right back at me.

How is it possible for a person like _him_ to have an effect like _this_ on me?

He is sitting a few seats next to Stephano, which would baffle me if it weren't for the tiny fact that I'm already too busy being baffled by his sickening beauty. And the way he looks at me... as if I'm transparent – an open book for him to read.

"_Hello_, it's your turn!"

I rip away my gaze when somebody's waving his hand in front of my face.

"_Oh_, oh, yeah, I see," I say in a dazed state, "I'm in."

I haven't so much as _looked_ at the cards. When I'm about to do so (while forgetting about Malfoy's near presence), something interrupts me and the rest of the room once again. It is Stephano – standing up straight, clearing his throat and ticking his finger against his glass.

"Ladies and gentlemen – "

Is he giving a _speech_?

But that's... that's so un-Stephano!

"I'd like your attention for a few minutes," he continues while everyone quietens down, "in between the poker an drinking, that is. I simply want to speak in the name of the party committee, otherwise known as the Heads and prefects, who've organised this event."

As on a not-really arranged cue the public starts clapping. Raphael next to me starts rubbing my back, showing off all of his straight teeth in process. I avoid eye-contact and give all my interest to Stephano.

"First of all I want to thank _myself_.." Some laughter, some cheers. "Then I want to thank the teachers, of course, for making this possible." Applause. "My fellow prefects, since they put so much effort in this..." Some more applause. "But most of all, most of all I want to thank our dear Heads."

_What_?

I meet Malfoy's eye swiftly, and he seems just as bewildered as I am.

"You _might_ know 'em," he sends a subtle wink my way. "Rose Weasley, my beautiful friend, and Scorpius Malfoy, my very best mate."

_Very best mate?_

"Let's raise a glass to them both!"

I look around in wonder as everyone does as he says. All the students lift their champagne glasses synchronically, all of them with their eyes on Malfoy and me.

_I don't deserve this._

Then things happen fairly quick. Stephano sits down, Malfoy stands up, he speaks to the crowd, the crowds reacts with laughter – and all the while I feel _trapped_. Because everyone is elated and happy and cheerful, and I'm _not_. I _still_ feel as horrible as I did the entire week. A few fake champagne glasses and fancy outfits aren't going to cure it. Neither will Raphael's stupid petting. I watch all these idiotic smiles, I watch Malfoy handing out free entertainment. Suddenly I feel like I don't belong anymore –

"Excuse me, Raphael," I say while shoving my chair backwards, "I think I need some fresh air."

Hardly looking up from his game, he rubs my underarm, nods, and mumbles something unintelligible.

Good.

At least I can walk outside guilt-free then.

* * *

It is raining.

It is bloody _raining._

And not just some drizzle either. The second I step out of the gate, no robe on whatsoever, it's as if a bucket of water has been released on my head. It is pouring so badly that it seems like all the rain that has failed to fall during the past months has simply been _saved up_ for this simple moment. Instead of going back inside, however, I feel strangely freed by this unexpected twist of events, and remain frozen on the spot. The sound of raindrops crashing on the ground sooths me, given its outspoken contrast to the enthusiastic cheers in the Great Hall.

Enthusiastic cheers...

For _Malfoy_.

"_I mean, it __always__ rains here. Especially this time of the year. I never thought I'd say it, but I kind of miss it. "_

"_I've always liked rain. Sometimes it just... sort of washes things away, you know?"_

The comfort vanishes all of a sudden, when in a flash I'm transported back that night I slept in Malfoy's room. It was the first night I actually realized he was a person, a person that intrigued me due to his personality rather than his appearance. It's not even that long ago, and still it feels like a lifetime.

He was just so damn nice.

So _damn_ different.

So _fucking_ deceiving.

So unbelievably –

"It's raining."

_Surprising_.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I turn around and find my own wet image reflecting in the light grey of Malfoy's eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in a meek voice, utterly caught off guard by his very sudden presence. "I mean… Aren't you supposed to be inside?"

"Aren't you?" He drawls, with a raised eyebrow for good measure.

My knees already growing weak under his scrutinizing gaze, I mimic his expression. "I didn't _feel_ like it."

"Why's that?"

"I'm just not in a very cheerful mood," I reply drily, hoping he doesn't put the two and two together.

He raises his hand, and I notice he's holding a glass of champagne. "I brought you a drink?"

"How very thoughtful of you," I say, and then, impulsively, "too bad it isn't going to get me drunk this time."

"I don't even need to get you drunk for... _those_ purposes, Weasley."

That – that _bastard_.

With an all-too familiar surge of anger racing through my veins, I take a step further away from the gate and him, with rain splashing over me more and more and more.

"You can't just – " I take a deep breath, nearly spit out every word, "come up here and _ambush_ me like you _always_ do, and expect me to _let_ you time and time again!"

He looks a little shocked, and the extra seconds he takes to retaliate, I abuse by walking further and further.

"You're like a fucking broken record, Malfoy," I yell, inwardly cursing myself for wearing heels in this mud, "you repeat all of your useless techniques _each_ time again. But guess what, you stupid prick, I don't _need_ you, nor do I _want_ you, nor do I want _anything_ to do with you!"

And then I break into a run.

"_Weasley_!"

Great, Malfoy. Calling after me – what a _classic_.

"Sod _off_!"

I run as hard as my legs can carry me.

"Would you just _stop_?"

In a very unexpected movement, I do stop and twirl around.

"Leave me _alone_, Malfoy!"

In a fraction of a second he's back in front of me, in the middle of a gigantic grass field, the water dripping down his face and body and _essence_.

"Bloody _hell_, Weasley!" He grabs my shoulders, my bare shoulders that feel so painfully fragile under his strong and demanding hands. "I'm in the fucking _pouring_ rain, _ruining_ this extremely expensive tuxedo, because I needed to _talk_ to you! And all _you_ do is act like an infantile _nutcase_!"

"Talk to me?" I repeat, pushing a string of curly hair out of my face. "Oh, _please_ go on, Malfoy. Please _honour_ me with your _oh so_ clever words."

And then I wait.

I wait and I wait and I wait – but he simply _stares_. Stares like he's done so many times before, only... differently. Only with a silent _promise_.

"Tell me, Malfoy," I say, a whole lot less confident, a whole lot more shaken. "What's so important that it can't wait until – "

That's the furthest I get.

Because that moment he cuts me off by lowering his head and pressing his mouth on mine.

I am so flabbergasted and shocked that I can't find the right way to react at first. At the soft pressure he adds, however, I feel my body answering to his touch, completely involuntarily. My belly tingles, my heart rate increases by a million, I have lost all ability to breathe, my mind snaps shut – because of _those_ lips. So soft, so subtle, so... so very Scorpius Malfoy.

It's _him_.

It's _really_ him kissing me.

It's what I dreamt about for the past weeks. It's what I wished for to happen every single time I went to sleep. I woke up hoping for him each morning, and I went through each day the same way. Ridiculously giddy at this thought, I get closer to him, and slowly run my tongue over his lower lip. At the electricity that de deepening of this kiss awakens, however, a paralyzing realization nearly makes me fall backwards.

"What – "

"_See_?" Still dizzy of our close contact, I look up to him in despair. "You're doing it again! _Ambushing_ me! Expecting me to _fall_ for it!"

He groans loudly, his hands in his hair. "You were enjoying it! You _always_ do!"

"Well, you can't just _use_ me, Malfoy!"

There we go again.

Shout – shout to outmatch the other – have a passionate encounter – shout again – avoid.

_Ever the same situation and ever so different. _

"I'm not – " he falls dead in his tracks.

"You're not?"

Anticipation – no answers – run away – avoid.

_Ever the same situation and ever so different. _

Just... How different will it be this time? What will we learn? What will we decide? What will come out of this confrontation in this endless downpour of rain? Will symbolism stand by us and wash away things? Or will Malfoy once again leave me hanging on his personal question mark?

It's never up to _me_ when it comes to him.

"I'm _not_ using you," he says forcefully, full of clarity.

"Then what is it?"

Million dollar question.

"I don't – " and then, out of the blue, the volume of his words raises, the confusion apparent on his face, and he explodes, "I don't _know_ what this is! I think about you _all_ the time, Weasley. All the fucking time! When I wake up, it's _your_ face I see. When I go to sleep, it's _your_ stupid, bossy voice echoing inside my head!"

I'm speechless, and can't do anything but digest what the boy's trying to say.

"When I read books, I wonder what _you_ think of them. When I'm in a discussion with anyone, I think of what _you_ would say!" He's on a roll, completely out of his usual calm and cool element. "I feel like I'm _sick_ or something. I get _nervous_ when I'm around you and I never, _ever_ get nervous! Do you see this?" He holds out his trembling hand. "See? I'm _shaking_. And there's nothing I can do about it!"

Is this _reality_?

"You're in love with me," I state calmly, when he seems to have dropped silent.

All the anger, all the frustration, all the anger – it's magically_ disappeared._

Have you ever been so happy that you wanted to jump off a building because you're sure you're able to fly anyway? Have you ever been so relieved that you wanted to scream in the middle of a street? Have you ever been so elated that you wanted to dance silly little dances just for the sake of it?

Because now I think I have.

"I suppose so," he replies sheepishly.

I blink, forbidding myself to break into a victory song. "Well, that's... a good thing, right?"

"Weasley, the reason I came to talk to you tonight was to tell you that I want to be with you," he strokes my upper arm kind of sweetly, "but there are _reasons_ for all the things I've done. There is a reason for the way I treated you this week. It's a dumb one, but it's _there_."

"Pray tell."

"I'm scared _shitless_ of this," he takes my hand, puts it on his chest. "I've never been in love before. I have _no_ idea whatsoever how to handle these sort of matters. So I'm sorry if I mess things up, alright?"

I feel his skin through the soaked fabric of his shirt. "I'm already used to it."

"No, seriously," he shakes his head a little, never breaks eye-contact. "I spent so much time thinking. Just... thinking. And I think I knew I was in love with you a long time ago, but remember that day in the hospital? When I explained my friendship with Stephano?"

I nod silently.

"Well, that was still the case. _Is_ still the case, even. But when you ran out of the room tonight..." he waits, trails his thumb over my cheek. "I realized it was _the_ moment. And he realized it too, because he came to me and obliged me to make things right."

I can't say anything, because I'm so occupied suppressing my utter euphoria.

"Do you think..." he pulls me closer to him, "we could try?"

"Yes," I answer resolutely. "Yes, yes, _yes_."

Our embrace is purer than it has ever been before. In fact, I don't think anything we did before is even remotely comparable to this. This is of importance. This time we know we both care, and we don't have to _hide_ it anymore.

"Weasley...?"

"Mm?"

"Do you want to go back inside?" He asks. "Or do you want to go sit under that tree and just... watch the rain or something conveniently corny like that?"

"Are you going to shoot me if I go for option B?" I peep, not willing to move away from him _at all_.

I never thought I'd say it, but I can almost hear the smile shining through his voice when he replies, "No, it's _exactly_ what I wanted."

And so he takes me hand, and leads me to a tree not too far away.

It's quite funny, if you think about it.

Because, you know, in the end, when it comes down to it, things might not end up like you'd expected them to. I mean, take my life, for example. I always thought myself to be the kind of girl who'd end up partnering up with Mr. Nice, since _I_ am nice myself. Someone like Tony, or Stephano, even (although, technically, he was really only that nice to me. For the most part he's just silent. And Malfoy's best friend, which basically means a lot of smirking and sneering and Slytherinness), with whom I would find some flat after Hogwarts, and make some babies, and live happily ever after, without any abuse or rape or whatever.

Yet, life takes pretty gobsmacking turns at times. Reality shows up right when you least expect it and smacks you right off whatever illusionary cloud you've been floating on – and not very nicely either. Because I don't _need_ nice. I don't _want_ nice. I thought I wanted nice, because it's only sensible to do so, and frankly, I've never really stumbled across anything else. But where did it get me in the end? Lying? Cheating? Letting people down?

Yeah.

Pretty damn messed up, that's what was.

_Was_. Past tense.

I steal another glance at Malfoy's back. Coincidence has it that he turns his neck at precisely the same time. Ocean blue and metal grey meet – _meet_, not clash – and even though it probably kills us _both_ to admit it, the connection is another piece of proof of the fact that, no matter how inconvenient, something has fallen into place. I look at my boyfriend, and he looks at his girlfriend, and it feels _right_.

Especially now our heads have stopped reasoning that it's _wrong_.

Two months. Nearly seven weeks. 1465 Hours. 87840 minutes. That's how long it has taken us to 'see the light'. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds fairly okay to me. It's a lot to adjust to, after all... A Weasley and a Malfoy? _Rose_ Weasley and _Scorpius_ Malfoy, more specifically? Yeah. Pretty nuts, if you ask me. I can still remember him as the nauseatingly arrogant snob on the train on our first day to Hogwarts, and I'm sure he can still remember me as the annoying, weird-looking firecracker too. And, to be honest, we're the same people as we were back then. Only there is more to the 'nauseatingly arrogant snob' and 'annoying, weird-looking firecracker'. There's analogue intelligence. There's challenge. There's passion. There's keeping one another on our toes. And after six years and two months full of rows and insults and accusations and jealousy and envy – there's an _us_.

And that's what counts.

_Us_.

Even though, admittedly, there will be new rows and insults and accusations and jealousy and envy – it's what we _do_, after all – but we will have a new outlook towards it. And if we're lucky, we'll forgive each other time and time again. Because, in case things get really, _really_ difficult, and we can't remember why we liked each other in the first place, there'll _always_ be rain. Unless you're expecting the end of this world, but then I guess it wouldn't matter anyway, since neither Malfoy nor me would be here anymore. But what I'm trying to say is, I know that statistics aren't on our side, and, according to the numbers, we're most likely to have broken up by the end of the year, and I'm honestly attempting to keep my mirth down to a realistic level, but...

_I_ can't imagine ever losing the fever I get whenever I'm around him.

And _I_ believe it'll be alright.

So _screw_ the statistics and their numbers.

"Weasley?"

We sit down against the tree trunk, me lying against his arm pit.

Malfoy's voice startles me somewhat, but has me relaxing immediately again. I feel how his fingertips graze from my shoulder to my elbow to my wrist, and then eventually to _my_ fingertips. Our hands clasp together again, softly, with his thumb grazing mine, and an assuring squeeze now and then.

"Yes?"

He gives me a crooked, teasing smirk. "You _do_ know I still find you tremendously stuck-up and annoying, right?"

"As long as _you_ do know that _I_ still find you horribly arrogant and vicious too?" I respond with the same kind of teasing undertone.

His smirk then gradually transforms into an honest smile. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Me neither."

And I mean it.

Because I know now, beyond any shadow of doubt, that I wouldn't want Scorpius Malfoy anything differently. I want the whole package, since it has brought me here. And I'm sort of certain that he wants my whole package too. So what's the point in being cynical? I feel happy. I _am_ happy. Ecstatic, even. And judging from the look in his eyes, and the constant smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the feeling is mutual.

So all in all, I guess that, sometimes, we _do_ get happy endings – or should I say beginnings? That's what this is, if you think about it. The beginning. The beginning of the beginning. And I'll gladly accept this new chapter. It's romantic one – sort of. No, scratch that. It is _straight out_ romantic.

Because the rain has come, and washed away our mistakes.

And so, I simply close my eyes, and wait for the drops to subdue.

* * *

**THE END**.

* * *

Feed me your thoughts! It's the last chance to do so.  
Thanks again for all your kind reviews. It has made all the effort worth it.

-Until next time.


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